A Book of homage to Shakespeare to commemorate the three hundredth anniversary of Shakespeare's death

Of this Edition of^^A Book of Homage to

Shakespeare ' ixyo copies have been printed

of which 1000 are for sale

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO
SHAKESPEARE

TO COMMEMORATE THE THREE HUNDREDTH
ANNIVERSARY OF SHAKESPEARE'S DEATH MCMXVI

PRINTED IN ENGLAND
AT THE OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

BY FREDERICK HALL
PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY

rights reserved

Shakespeare Tercen tetiarii U)l(>

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO

SHAKESPEARE

EDITED BY ISRAEL GOLLANCZ, LITT.D., F.B.A.

'» \
HONORARY SECRETARY OF THE SHAKESPEARE TERCENTENARY COMMITTEE

HUMPHREY MILFORD

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

PA

Jtqo

PRINTED IN ENGLAND.

.,,- ,,,v ,:•.;::;,::. PREFACE ;•:,„!, K;-.,:,;; ;i,.. /, ^

FOR years past — as far back as 1904 — many of us had been looking
forward to the Shakespeare Tercentenary as the occasion for some
fitting memorial to symbolize the intellectual fraternity of mankind in
the universal homage accorded to the genius of the greatest Englishman.
We had hoped that, on a site which has already been acquired, a stately
building, to be associated with his august name, equipped and adequately
endowed for the furtherance of Shakespearian drama and dramatic art
generally, would have made the year 1916 memorable in the annals of
the English stage.

At a noteworthy meeting held in July 1914 of delegates nominated
by many institutions, universities, societies, and other bodies, to consider
the question of the observance of the Shakespeare Tercentenary, Lord
Bryce as President of the British Academy presiding, it was unanimously
resolved, on the motion of the American Ambassador, His Excellency
W. H. Page, * That the Tercentenary of the death of Shakespeare
should be commemorated in a manner worthy of the veneration in which
the memory of Shakespeare is held by the English-speaking peoples
and by the world at large '. The delegates, representing the British
Empire, the United States, and foreign countries, were constituted as
a General Committee, and an Executive Committee was appointed, with
Lord Plymouth as Chairman, and myself as Honorary Secretary.

Then came the War ; and the dream of the world's brotherhood
to be demonstrated by its common and united commemoration of
Shakespeare, with many another fond illusion, was rudely shattered.
In face of sterner duties all such projects fell necessarily into abeyance.
Some months ago, however, it was recognized (and the call came to us
from many quarters at home and abroad) that not even under present
conditions should the Shakespeare Tercentenary be allowed to pass
unobserved, though the scope of our original programme would of

viii A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

necessity be modified, — though we could not hope to witness even the
foundation of the proposed Shakespeare Theatre, nor to welcome, as we
had anticipated, the many devotees of the poet who would have wished
to participate in our Commemoration.

We knew we should have our friends with us in spirit on the great
occasion ; and it seemed to me, in one way at least, possible to link their
homage with ours, and to hand down to posterity a worthy Record of
the widespread reverence for Shakespeare as shared with the English-
speaking world by our Allies and Neutral States, namely, by the publica
tion, in honour of the Tercentenary, of a Book of Homage to Shakespeare,
with contributions in prose and verse, representing the ubiquity of the
poet's mighty influence. Accordingly, encouraged by those whom I
ventured to consult, and subsequently with the approval of the Ter
centenary Committee, I took upon myself the responsible and onerous
task, complicated by present conditions ; and the ready and generous
co-operation of one hundred and sixty-six Homagers finds expression
in the present volume. Time and space necessitated certain limitations ;
and it has not been possible to include many who would have been
willing to join in our Homage, and whose tributes to the poet would
have been valued by all Shakespearians. The original plan of the book
fixed the maximum number of contributors at one hundred. It soon
became clear that this would have to be increased, and that the British
Empire alone could not well be represented by less than one hundred
contributors, with some seventy more representing America, France,
Italy, Greece, Spain and Spanish-speaking countries, Portugal, Rou-
mania, Switzerland, Belgium, Holland, Iceland, Denmark, Sweden,
Norway, Russia, Serbia, Poland, ' Jugoslavia ', Finland, Japan, China,
Persia, Armenia — to follow the arrangement of the book, where the
nations are grouped by languages, namely, English, Romance, Dutch,
Scandinavian, Slavonic, &c. These languages, however, do not exhaust
the list, for from British subjects we have tributes, not only in the classic
dead languages of antiquity, Greek, Latin, Hebrew, Sanskrit, but also
in the living languages of Ireland, Wales, India (Bengalee, Urdu, and
Burmese), Egypt (Arabic), and South Africa (the Bechuana dialect).

It is indeed a long-drawn procession that is here presented ; and

PREFACE ix

before it is graciously ushered in by our honoured chieftain Mr. Thomas
Hardy, it is my pleasant duty to record my profound thanks to him and
to all those who have made it possible for the Book of Homage to come
forth amid the throes of this world-travail. I am grateful to many of my
contributors for much kind indulgence in difficult and delicate questions ;
and I owe a special debt of gratitude to the trusty advisers who have
given me the benefit of their valued counsel. I regret that, for various
reasons, it has not been possible to give translations in all cases where
a full English rendering would have been desirable ; the marginal
paraphrases will, I trust, prove helpful, as indicating the general purport
of certain contributions in languages not generally known. A few
contributions have unfortunately not reached me in time for inclusion
in the volume.

While the work has been in progress, we have had to mourn the
loss of some whose names would have added lustre to the Roll of our
Homagers — the late Mr. Henry James, so noble a link between the
English-speaking peoples ; my ever revered and kind friend Mr. Stopford
Brooke, to whom, for his Primer of English Literature and its inspiring
force, the teaching of English literature, in my opinion, owes more than
to any other man of our time ; Canon Ellacombe, the nonagenarian,
whose Plant-Lore and Garden-Craft of Shakespeare made Shakespeare's
Garden of Flowers burgeon forth anew ; Count Ugo Balzani, endeared
to many Englishmen, who had been nominated by the Lincei, of Rome,
to represent that learned Academy at the Tercentenary Commemoration,
who was present at the meeting constituting the General Committee
in 1914, and who was preparing his Homage to Shakespeare at the time
of his lamented death ; and, lastly, Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth of
Roumania, whose memory, as Carmen Sylva, is enshrined in the hearts
of those who cherish the tender blossoms of sweet poesy. All these
and others should be gratefully remembered, for they are with us in
our Homage.

I desire to express my sincerest thanks to many who have helped
me in various ways — Mr. Nevill Forbes, Reader in Russian in the Uni
versity of Oxford (for his excellent translations of the Russian and other
Slavonic contributions) ; Professor Margoliouth, Laudian Professor of

x A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

Arabic in the University of Oxford (for reading the proofs of the Arabic
poems, and for summarizing their contents) ; Professor Paul Hamelius,
of the University of Liege (for valued assistance with Dutch and Flemish);
Sir Charles Eliot, Principal of the University of Hong-kong, and the
Rev. S. B. Drake, King's College, London, in respect of Chinese ; Pro
fessor Longford (for advice on Japanese) ; Mrs. Rhys Davids (for her
good offices in helping me to secure adequate representation of Burmese);
Miss Laurence Alma-Tadema ; Mr. Mikhail, an Egyptian student of
King's College ; Miss Alice Werner, Miss Winifred Stephens, and
Miss Mabel Day.

I would add my best thanks to Mr. J. F. Blumhardt, Professor of
Hindustani, University College, London, for generously preparing for
me a comprehensive catalogue of all the versions of Shakespeare in the
Aryan languages and dialects of India, for a survey I had contemplated
of the renderings of Shakespeare into foreign languages.

Finally, I wish to place on record my profound appreciation of the
manner in which Mr. F. J. Hall, Controller of the Oxford University
Press, and his staff, have carried this work through, under exceptional
difficulties. But for Mr. Hall's zeal, and the marvellous organization
of the Oxford University Press, the Book could not possibly have been
published in time for the Tercentenary. The workmanship speaks
for itself. I desire also to express my thanks to Mr. Emery Walker for
his share in the artistic side of the volume.

It is my hope that this Shakespeare Tercentenary Book may in
augurate the annual issue of a volume of Shakespeare studies, or, at all
events, that it may help forward some Shakespearian work ; and to this
purpose I propose to devote the profits, if any, accruing from this labour
of loyal homage and dutiful reverence, from this Book of Homage to
Shakespeare — and to Shakespeare's England.

I. G,

KING'S COLLEGE,
LONDON, W.C.
April 20, 1916.

PAGE

THOMAS HARDY, O.M.

To SHAKESPEARE AFTER 300 YEARS . . ^ . . . i

M. H. SPIELMANN, F.S.A.

' THIS FIGURE, THAT THOU HERE SEEST PUT ' . . . 3

AUSTIN DOBSON

THE RIDDLE . . .13

FREDERIC HARRISON, D.C.L., Litt.D., LL.D.

A DREAM OF PARNASSUS 14

LAURENCE BINYON, author of London Visions, &c.

ENGLAND'S POET 21

THE RT. HON. VISCOUNT BRYCE, O.M., President of the British
Academy

SOME STRAY THOUGHTS .... . . . 22

HIS EMINENCE CARDINAL GASQUET, author of Henry VIII and

the English Monasteries, &c.

SHAKESPEARE 25

JOHN DRINKWATER, author of Poems of Men and Hours, &c.

FOR APRIL 23, 1616-1916 . . . . . ..'. , 30

REV. WILLIAM BARRY, D.D. (Rome), author of The New Antigone

THE CATHOLIC STRAIN IN SHAKESPEARE . . . .; 31

MRS. ALICE MEYNELL

HEROINES r.( '; .. . 35

Xll

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

PAGE

JOHN GALSWORTHY, author of The Silver Box, &c.

THE GREAT TREE 37

F. R. BENSON, LL.D.

A STRATFORDIAN'S HOMAGE 39

H. B. IRVING, M.A. (Oxford)

THE HOMAGE OF THE ACTORS 41

GORDON BOTTOMLEY

ON PEACEFUL PENETRATION 43

ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES, author of Songs of Killarney, &c.

THE FAIRIES' HOMAGE- 47

PROFESSOR W. P. KER, LL.D., F.B.A., University Professor of
English Language and Literature, University College,
London ; author of Epic and Romance, &c.

CERVANTES, SHAKESPEARE, AND THE PASTORAL IDEA . . 49

EDMUND GOSSE, C.B., LL.D.

THE SONGS OF SHAKESPEARE 52

EVELYN UNDERBILL (MRS. STUART MOORE), author of Mysticism,
a Study in the Nature and Development of Man's Spiritual
Consciousness, Practical Mysticism, &c.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE . . . . . .56

JOHN BURNET, LL.D., Professor of Greek in the University of
St. Andrews

SHAKESPEARE AND GREEK PHILOSOPHY . . ... 58

W. MACNEILE DIXON, Litt.D., Professor of English Literature in
the University of Glasgow ; author of English Poetry from
Blake to Browning

IN REMEMBRANCE OF OUR WORTHY MASTER SHAKESPEARE . 62

W. H. HADOW, D.Mus., Principal, Armstrong College, Newcastle

SHAKESPEARE AND Music 64

CONTENTS xiii

PAGE

J. A. FULLER-MAITLAND, editor of Grove's Dictionary of Music, &c.

BIANCA'S MUSIC-LESSON ....... 70

WILLIAM BARCLAY SQUIRE, Assistant-Keeper, British Museum ;
author of Catalogue of old Printed Music in the British
Museum, &c.

SHAKESPEARIAN OPERAS ....... 75

REGINALD BLOMFIELD, R.A., author of History of Renaissance
Architecture in England, &c.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE . 84

SIR SIDNEY COLVIN, Hon. D.Litt., Oxford, Member of the Royal
Academy of Belgium, late Keeper of Prints and Drawings,
British Museum

THE SACK OF TROY IN SHAKESPEARE'S ' LUCRECE ' AND IN

SOME FIFTEENTH-CENTURY DRAWINGS AND TAPESTRIES . 88

LIONEL CUST, C.V.O., Litt.D., F.S.A., formerly Director of the

National Portrait Gallery

*
SHAKESPEARE ......... 100

LIEUT.-COL. SIR RONALD ROSS, K.C.B., F.R.S., Nobel Laureate ;
author of Malarial Fever: its Cause, Prevention, and
Treatment

SHAKESPEARE, 1916 . 104

W. H. DAVIES, author of The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp

SHAKESPEARE WORKS 105

HENRY BRADLEY, Hon. D.Litt., Oxford, F.B.A., editor of The New
English Dictionary

SHAKESPEARE AND THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE . . i 5 . 106

SIR SIDNEY LEE, Litt.D., F.B.A., University Professor of English
Language and Literature, East London College; author of
A Life of Shakespeare, &c.

SHAKESPEARE INVENTOR OF LANGUAGE . . no

xiv A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

PAGE

HERBERT TRENCH, formerly Fellow of All Souls College, Oxford ;
author of Deirdre Wedded, &c.

SHAKESPEARE 115

ALFRED NO YES, Hon. Litt.D. (Yale), author of Drake, Forty Singing
Seamen, &c.

THE SHADOW OF THE MASTER 116

MRS. C. C. STOPES, author of Shakespeare's Environment, &c.

THE MAKING OF SHAKESPEARE . . . . . .118

THE VERY REV. H. C. BEECHING, D.D., Dean of Norwich

THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT 120

A. CLUTTON-BROCK, author of Shelley, the Man and the Poet, &c.

THE UNWORLDLINESS OF SHAKESPEARE 126

MORTON LUCE, author of Shakespeare, the Man and his Work, &c.

THE CHARACTER OF SHAKESPEARE 129

W. F. TRENCH, M.A. (Cantab.), Litt.D. (Dublin), Professor of English
Literature in the University of Dublin ; author of Shake
speare's Hamlet, &c.

SHAKESPEARE : THE NEED FOR MEDITATION .... 135

GEORGE SAINTSBURY, D.Litt., F.B.A., late Professor of English
Literature in the University of Edinburgh ; author of History
of English Prosody, &c.

SHAKESPEARE AS TOUCHSTONE ...... 137

THE RT. HON. J. M. ROBERTSON, M.P., author of Montaigne and
Shakespeare, &c.

THE PARADOX OF SHAKESPEARE 141

W. J. COURTHOPE, C.B., Litt.D., F.B.A., formerly Prof essor of Poetry
in the University of Oxford ; author of History of English
Poetry, &c.

THE TERCENTENARY OF SHAKESPEARE'S DEATH— 1916 . . 146

CONTENTS xv

PAGE

THE RT. HON. SIR J. RENNELL RODD, G.C.M.G., G.C.V.O.,

British Ambassador at Rome ; author of Ballads of the
Fleet, &c.

A THOUGHT FROM ITALY . > jj 148

\s
JOHN BAILEY, author of Dr. Johnson and his Circle, &c.

A NOTE ON FALSTAFF . . . . . ;1 . 149

E. K. CHAMBERS, C.B., author of The Medieval Stage, &c.

THE OCCASION OF 'A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM' < I . 154

v

OLIVER ELTON, Professor of English Literature in the University
of Liverpool ; author of Survey of English Literature, ij8o~
1830, &c.

HELENA .... . ... j . 161

W. L. COURTNEY, LL.D., Fellow of New College, Oxford

ORSINO TO OLIVIA ........ 162

A. C. BRADLEY, LL.D., F.B.A., formerly Professor of Poetry in the
University of Oxford ; author of Shakespearean Tragedy, &c.

FESTE THE JESTER ........ 164

ISRAEL GOLLANCZ, Litt.D., F.B.A., University Professor of English
Language and Literature, King's College, London ; Secretary
of the British Academy ; Honorary Secretary of the Shake
speare Tercentenary Committee ; editor of The Temple
Shakespeare, &c.

BITS OF TIMBER : SOME OBSERVATIONS ON SHAKESPEARIAN

NAMES — ' SHYLOCK ', ' POLONIUS ', ' MALVOLIO ' . . 170

W. W, GREG, Litt.D., author of Pastoral Poetry and Pastoral Drama,
&c.

A CRITICAL MOUSETRAP . . . W' / . . 179

R. WARWICK BOND, Professor of English Literature, University
College, Nottingham ; editor of The Complete Works of John
Lyly
1600 181

xvi A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

PAGE

SIR HENRY NEWBOLT, Professor of Poetry in the Royal Society of

Literature ; author of Admirals all, &c.
A NOTE ON ' ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA ' . 183

M. W. MACCALLUM, Professor of Modern Literature, University of
Sydney; author of Shakespeare's Roman Plays and their
Background, &c.
THE CAWDOR PROBLEM 186

HUGH WALKER, LL.D., Professor of English Literature, St. David's
College, Lampeter; author of Literature of the Victorian
Era, &c.
THE KNOCKING AT THE GATE ONCE MORE . . . .190

J. W. MACKAIL, LL.D., F.B.A., formerly Professor of Poetry in the
University of Oxford ; author of The Springs of Helicon, &c.

MOTHER AND SON IN ' CYMBELINE '..... 193

A. C. BENSON, C.V.O., LL.D., President of Magdalene College, Cam
bridge ; author of The Upton Letters, &c.

ARIEL 197

RUDYARD KIPLING

THE VISION OF THE ENCHANTED ISLAND .... 200

J. LE GAY BRERETON, author of Elizabethan Drama : Notes and
Studies, &c.

DE WITT AT THE SWAN 204

W. J. LAWRENCE (Dublin), author of The Elizabethan Playhouse, &c.

A FORGOTTEN PLAYHOUSE CUSTOM OF SHAKESPEARE'S DAY . 207

THE RT. HON. W. J. M. STARKIE, LL.D., Litt.D., editor of
Aristophanes

WIT AND HUMOUR IN SHAKESPEARE 212

A. R. SKEMP, Professor of English in the University of Bristol

SHAKESPEARE .227

CONTENTS xvii

PAGE

R. G. MOULTON, M.A. (Cantab.), Professor of Literary Theory and
Interpretation in the University of Chicago ; author of
Shakespeare as a Dramatic Artist, &c.

SHAKESPEARE AS THE CENTRAL POINT IN WORLD LITERATURE . 228

C. H. HERFORD, Litt.D., Professor of English Literature, University
of Manchester ; author of The Literary Relations of England
and Germany in the Sixteenth Century, &c.

THE GERMAN CONTRIBUTION TO SHAKESPEARE CRITICISM . 231

G. C. MOORE SMITH, Litt.D., Hon. Ph.D. (Louvain), Professor of
English Language and Literature, University of Sheffield;
editor of Club Law, &c.

SONNETS, 1616:1916 . . . fl. "'/• . .' . 236

A. W. POLLARD, Assistant Keeper, British Museum; author of
Shakespeare's Folios and Quartos, &c.

A BIBLIOGRAPHER'S PRAISE . . . ,. ",*/, , . 238

SIR A. W. WARD, Litt.D., F.B.A., Master of Peterhouse, Cambridge;
author of History of English Dramatic Literature, &c.

1616 AND ITS CENTENARIES 241

ISRAEL ZANGWILL, author of Children of the Ghetto, &c.

THE Two EMPIRES ; "•{ . . 248

H. B. WHEATLEY, D.C.L., late President of the Bibliographical
Society ; author of Medieval London, &c.

LONDON'S HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE . . . v; . 249

MISS MABEL E. WOTTON

A MEETING-PLACE FOR SHAKESPEARE AND DRAYTON IN THE

CITY OF LONDON . . . .: .. !s,.;? ... . 252

FREDERICK S. BOAS, LL.D., author of University Drama in the
Tudor Age, &c.

OXFORD AND SHAKESPEARE . . / :/..* 4 : ,.i . 254

b

xviii A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

PAGE

ARTHUR GRAY, Master of Jesus College, Cambridge

SHAKESPEARE AND CAMBRIDGE 260

MISS M. DORMER HARRIS, editor of The Coventry Lett Book, &c.

SHAKESPEARE AND WARWICKSHIRE 264

H. J. C. GRIERSON, LL.D., Professor of English Literature in the
University of Edinburgh ; editor of the Poems of John Donne

SHAKESPEARE AND SCOTLAND ...... 266

THE RT. HON. MR. JUSTICE MADDEN, LL.D., Litt.D., Vice-
Chancellor of Dublin University ; author of The Diary of
Master Silence, &c.

SHAKESPEARE AND IRELAND ....... 270

DOUGLAS HYDE, (An Craoibhin Aoibhinn), Litt.D., LL.D., author of
A Literary History of Ireland, Love Songs of Connacht, &c.

AN RUD THARLA DO GHAEDHEAL AG STRATFORD AR AN ABHAINN

(HOW IT FARED WITH A GAEL AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON) . 275

JOHN EDWARD LLOYD, Professor of History, University College
of North Wales, Bangor ; author of A History of Wales, &c.

SHAKESPEARE'S WELSHMEN 280

J. MORRIS JONES, Professor of Welsh, University College of North
Wales

I GOF BARDD AVON (To THE MEMORY OF THE BARD OF AVON) . 284
REV. J. O. WILLIAMS, PEDROG (Liverpool)

Y BARDD A GANODD I'R BYD 286

J. W. H. ATKINS, Professor of English Language and Literature,
University College of Wales, Aberystwyth ; late Fellow of
St. John's College, Cambridge

SHAKESPEARE AND KING ARTHUR 288

SIR JOHN SANDYS, Litt.D., F.B.A., Public Orator in the University
of Cambridge

A GREEK EPIGRAM ON THE TOMB OF SHAKESPEARE . . 291

CONTENTS xix

PAGE

ALEXANDER W. MAIR, Litt.D., Professor of Greek in the University
of Edinburgh ; editor of Hesiod, &c.

GREEK DIALOGUE IN PRAISE OF SHAKESPEARE . ,.^n . 292

SIR HERBERT WARREN, K.C.V.O., President of Magdalen College,
Oxford ; late Professor of Poetry, University of Oxford

COMMEMORATIO DORYSSOI ....... 306

THE REV. H. GOLLANCZ, D.Litt., Goldsmid Professor of Hebrew,
University College, London ; editor of The Ethical Treatises
of Berachya, &c,

HEBREW ODE . v;$: tr. . . ,:, . . ., . . 307

A. A. MACDONELL, Ph.D., F.B.A., Boden Professor of Sanskrit in
the University of Oxford, author of A History of Sanskrit
Literature, &c.

A SANSKRIT PANEGYRIC ....... 310

THE HON. WILLIAM PEMBER REEVES, Ph.D. (Athens) ; Director
of London School of Economics ; formerly High Com
missioner for New Zealand ; author of The Long White
Cloud, a History of New Zealand, &c.

THE DREAM IMPERIAL ........ 312

WILFRED CAMPBELL, LL.D., Canadian poet, author of Lake
Lyrics, &c.

SHAKESPEARE . . 'V' . '. '; . v . . 314

CAPTAIN CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS, LL.D., Canadian poet,
author of The Book of the Native, &c.

To SHAKESPEARE, 1916 . . . . ". '-'. 315

CANON F. G. SCOTT, C.M.G., D.C.L. ; Senior Chaplain, ist Canadian
Division, B.E.F. ; author of The Hymn of Empire, and Other
Poems, &c.
'SHAKESPEARE' . . . '.-• v . . 'V- . 316

ANANDA COOMARASWAMY, author of The Arts and Crafts of
India and Ceylon, &c.

INTELLECTUAL FRATERNITY . . . . ^ . * v . 317

b 2

xx A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

PAGE

SIR RABINDRANATH TAGORE, D.Litt. ; Nobel Laureate for
Literature ; author of Gitanjali ; The Crescent Moon, &c.

SHAKESPEARE . 320

MOHAMMED IGVAL, scholar and advocate (Lahore), and
SARDAR JOGUNDRA SINGH, Indian novelist

To SHAKESPEARE : A TRIBUTE FROM THE EAST . . . 322

S. Z. AUNG, Burmese Buddhist scholar and philosopher

FROM THE BURMESE BUDDHISTS ...... 324

MAUNG TIN, M.A., of Rangoon College ; editor of Khuddaka pdtha

SHAKESPEARE : A BURMAN'S APPRECIATION .... 329

HIS EXCELLENCY MOHAMMED H AFIZ IBRAHIM, famous Arabic
poet

To THE MEMORY OF SHAKESPEARE 331

HIS EXCELLENCY WALIY AD-DIN YEYEN BEY, Egyptian poet

SHAKESPEARE 333

A SOUTH AFRICAN'S HOMAGE

WILLIAM TSIKINYA-CHAKA 336

CHARLES MILLS GAYLEY, Litt.D., LL.D., Professor of English
Literature in the University of California ; editor of Repre
sentative English Comedies, &c.

HEART OF THE RACE 340

HORACE HOWARD FURNESS, JUNR., editor of the Variorum
Shakespeare

THE HOMAGE OF THE SHAKSPERE SOCIETY OF PHILADELPHIA . 342

CLAYTON HAMILTON, dramatic critic, author of Stagecraft, &c.

THE PARADOX OF SHAKESPEARE 347

JOHN GRIER HIBBEN, Ph.D., LL.D., President of Princeton

University
SHAKESPEARE 350

CONTENTS xxi

PAGE

ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON, Litt.D., LL.D., Secretary of the
American Academy of Arts and Letters ; author of Songs of
Liberty, &c.

SHAKESPEARE ......... 351

JOHN MATTHEWS MANLY, LL.D., Professor of English Literature
in the University of Chicago ; editor of Specimens of the Pre-
Shahespearean Drama

Two NEGLECTED TASKS .... ;# j .'• . 353

BRANDER MATTHEWS, Litt.D., Professor of Dramatic Literature,
Columbia University ; author of Shakspere as a Playwright

IF SHAKSPERE SHOULD COME BACK ?..... 356

FREDERICK MORGAN PADELFORD, Ph.D., Professor of the English
Language and Literature in the University of Washington ;
editor of Early Sixteenth Century Lyrics, &c.

SONNETS : I. SHAKESPEARE. II. THE FOREST OF ARDEN

WILLIAM LYON PHELPS, Professor of English Literature at Yale
University

A PLEA FOR CHARLES THE WRESTLER . . V . . 362

FELIX E. SCHELLING, Professor of English Literature in the Uni
versity of Pennsylvania ; author of Elizabethan Drama, &c. .

THE COMMON FOLK OF SHAKESPEARE . . . . . 364

OWEN WISTER, M.A. (Harvard), author of The Virginian, &c.

FROM A LOVER OF SHAKESPEARE AND OF ENGLAND . . 373

/

GEORGE SANTAYANA, Litt.D., Ph.D., author of The Life of
Reason, &c.

SONNET 377

HENRI CHANTAVOINE

A SHAKESPEARE ;v . .

xxii A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

PAGE

HENRI BERGSON, de I'Acaddmie fransaise ; Corresponding Fellow

of the British Academy
HOMMAGE A SHAKESPEARE ... . 379

MAURICE BOUCHOR, author of Les Chansons de Shakespeare mises
en vers francais

SHAKESPEARE ' . . 381

6MILE BOUTROUX, de 1' Academic fransaise ; Corresponding Fellow
of the British Academy

L'ART ET LA NATURE, DANS SHAKESPEARE ET DANS BACON . 383

ALBERT FEUILLERAT, Professor of English Language and Literature
in the University of Rennes ; author of John Lyly ; Black-
friar Records, &c.

SIMPLES NOTES 387

&MILE HOVELAQUE, Inspecteur GSneVal de Instruction Publique

COMMENT FAIRE CONNA!TRE SHAKESPEARE AUX PETITS FRANCAIS 392

HIS EXCELLENCY J.-J. JUSSERAND, French Ambassador at
Washington ; Corresponding Fellow of the British Academy ;
author of Histoire litteraire du -peuple anglais

FRAGMENTS SUR SHAKESPEARE . . . . . . 399

IiMILE LEGOUIS, Professor of English Language and Literature at
the Sorbonne ; author of The Early Life of Wordsworth

QA ET LA 405

ROMAIN ROLLAND, author of Jean-Christophe, &c.

A MON MEILLEUR AMI— SHAKESPEARE 4! I

PIERRE VILLEY, Professor of French Literature, University of Caen

MONTAIGNE ET SHAKESPEARE .*.... 417

HENRI DE RfiGNIER, de 1' Academic francaise

A SHAKESPEARE 421

CONTENTS xxiii

PAGE

HIS EXCELLENCY JOANNES GENNADIUS, D.C.L., Litt.D., LL.D.,
Greek Minister

THI MNHMHI TOY KAEINOT KAI EPATEINOT EAKESFTHPOY (To THE

MEMORY OF THE RENOWNED AND GENTLE SHAKESPEARE) . 422

ISIDORO DEL LUNGO, Senator ; author of Women of Florence

DANTE E SHAKESPEARE 427

LUIGI LUZZATTI, Italian Minister

PRO SHAKESPEARE ! . . . . . . 428

CAVALIERE ADOLFO DE BOSIS

SHAKESPEARE . . • > 429

CINO CHIARINI, Professor of English Literature, Florence

SHAKESPEARE 430

PAOLO ORANO, man of letters, Rome

' HAMLET E GIORDANO BRUNO ? ' 432

JOS6 DE ARMAS, Member of the Royal Spanish Academy ; author of
El Quijote y su £poca

CONVERSACION DE DOS ALMAS 434

HIS EXCELLENCY SE^OR DON ALFONSO MERRY DEL VAL,
Spanish Ambassador

To SHAKESPEARE, FROM A SPANIARD 435

A. MAURA, President of the Royal Spanish Academy

SHAKESPEARE • f? , : -. - . 437

ARMANDO PAL AGIO VALD&S, Member of the Royal Spanish
Academy

EL CIELO DE SHAKSPEARE . . . . . .,.-,. . 439

C. SILVA VILD6SOLA, South American publicist

SHAKESPEARE Y LAS LITERATURAS HISPANO-AMERICANAS . . 441

xxiv A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

PAGE

HIS EXCELLENCY M. TEXEIRA-GOMES, Portuguese Minister

PORTUGUESE TRIBUTE 447

GEORGE YOUNG, M.V.O., late of the British Legation, Lisbon;
author of Portugal through its Poetry, &c.

PORTUGAL AND THE SHAKESPEARE TERCENTENARY . . 449

HIS EXCELLENCY NICOLAS MI§U, Envoy Extraordinary and
Roumanian Minister

ROUMANIA'S HOMAGE 452

LOUIS FR&D&RIC CHOISY, Professor of Comparative Literature in
the University of Geneva

L'!MPERSONNALIT£ DE SHAKESPEARE 454

RENIi MORAX, Swiss poet and dramatist

SHAKESPEARE 457

£MILE VERHAEREN

SHAKESPEARE vu DE PROFIL 460

MAURICE MAETERLINCK

SHAKESPEARE 461

PAUL HAMELIUS, Professor of English Language and Literature in
the University of Liege

SHAKESPEARE AND BELGIUM 462

REN£ DE CLERCQ, Flemish poet

ALS DEEZ TlJDEN GROOT (GREAT LIKE THESE TlMES) . . 464

CYRIEL BUYSSE, Flemish writer

IN GEDACHTE MET SHAKESPEARE 466

ALBERT VERWEY, Dutch poet

GRATO M' £ 'L SONNO 467

W. G. C. BYVANCK, Librarian of the Royal Library, The Hague

READING SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS 468

CONTENTS xxv

PAGE

B. A. P. VAN DAM, M.D., author of William Shakespeare's Prosody
and Text

ARE THERE INTERPOLATIONS IN THE TEXT OF ' HAMLET ' ? . 473

OTTO JESPERSEN, Professor of English Philology at the University of
Copenhagen ; author of Growth and Structure of the English
Language, &c.

A MARGINAL NOTE ON SHAKESPEARE'S LANGUAGE AND A

TEXTUAL CRUX IN ' KING LEAR ' 481

JON STEFANSSON, Ph.D., Icelandic scholar

AN EDDIC HOMAGE TO WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE . . . 484

NIELS M0LLER, Danish poet

PAA VEJ TIL SHAKESPEARE (ON THE WAY TO SHAKESPEARE) . 486

GEORGE BRANDES, LL.D., Professor ; Commander of the Orders
of Danebrog and St. Olaf, &c. ; author of William Shake
speare

SHAKESPEARE ......... 490

KARL MANTZIUS, Danish actor and scholar ; author of A History
of Theatrical Art in Ancient and Modern Times

DENMARK AND SHAKESPEARE 491

VALD. VEDEL, Professor of Literary History, Copenhagen

' PERSONALITY ' ELLER ' IMPERSONALITY ' . . .492

KARL WARBURG, Professor of Literary History in the University
of Stockholm

HAMLET i SVERIGE . . . i-vO . . . . 495

C. COLLIN, Professor of English Literature in the University of
Christiania

SHAKESPEARE AND THE NORWEGIAN DRAMA . .,»;, . . 499

xxvi A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

PAGE

K. BALMONT, Russian poet and scholar (with translations by NEVILL

FORBES)
I. THE GENIUS OF THE SEEING HEART •. . . . 5°6

II. ON THE SHOAL OF TIME 512

III. THE ALL-EMBRACING 5J4

MAXIMILIAN VOLOSHIN, Russian poet (with translation by NEVILL
FORBES)

PORTIA 5*6

* AMARI ', Russian poet

ANOTHER RUSSIAN HOMAGE 518

FATHER NICHOLAS VELIMIROVIC, of Belgrade

SHAKESPEARE — THE PANANTHROPOS 520

PAVLE POPOVlC, Professor of Southern Slav Literature in the
University of Belgrade; author of A History of Serbian
Literature, &c.

SHAKESPEARE IN SERBIA 524

SRGJAN TUSIC, Jugoslav dramatist

THE HOMAGE OF THE JUGOSLAVS 528

HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ, Polish novelist ; author of Quo Vadis, &c.
(with translation by Miss LAURENCE ALMA-TADEMA)

DLACZEGO MOGLEM CZYTA£ SZEKSPIRA (WHY I WAS ABLE TO

READ SHAKESPEARE) 530

EINO LEINO, Finnish poet

SHAKESPEARE-TUNNELMA (with English translation) . . 534

YRJO HIRN, Professor of Aesthetics and Modern Literature in the
University of Helsingfors

SHAKESPEARE IN FINLAND . 536

JUHANI AHO, Finnish man of letters

ENSIMAINEN SUOMALAINEN SHAKESPEAREN ENSI-ILTA SUOMESSA 538

CONTENTS xxvii

PAGE

YUZO TSUBOUCHI, Emeritus Professor of English Literature, Waseda
University, Tokyo ; translator of Shakespeare into Japanese

SHAKESPEARE AND CHIKAMATSU 543

GONNOSK& KOMAI, Japanese War Correspondent and poet

To SHAKESPEARE, THE GREATEST CONQUEROR OF ALL . . 547

LIU PO TUAN, Chinese poet (Hong-kong)

CHINESE HOMAGE 548

AHMAD KHAN, Persian scholar

PERSIAN HOMAGE 550

K. H. FUNDUKLIAN, translator of Antony and Cleopatra, &c., into
Armenian

ARMENIAN TRIBUTE 551

MISS ZABELLE C. BOYAJIAN, author of Yesterc, a novel dealing
with Armenian life, &c.

ARMENIA'S LOVE TO SHAKESPEARE 552

EPILOGUE . .553

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER . . 555

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

I. 'THIS FIGURE, THAT THOU HERE SEEST PUT'

1. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Print engraved by Martin Droes-

hout. Probably executed 1622/3. Elaborated from the Proof.
From the plate in the First Folio .... Frontispiece

2. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. From the (coloured) effigy, carved

by Garret Johnson the Younger, in Holy Trinity Church,
Stratford-on-Avon . . . . .To face p. 4

3. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. (Head only.) From the earliest

Proof (known as ' the Unique Proof ') of the engraving by
Martin Droeshout, discovered by J. O. Halliwell[-Phillipps] in
1864, before elaboration for the First Folio. In the possession
of Mr. H. C. Folger, of New York. By consent of the Trustees
of the Shakespeare Birthplace. (Copyright) . . To face p. 6

4. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. The Chandos Portrait. In the

National Portrait Gallery .... To face p. 8

5. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. (Head only.) Painted by Sir

Godfrey Kneller in 1693, from the Chandos Portrait, for pre
sentation to John Dry den. In the possession of the Earl Fitz-
william, through whose courtesy it is here, for the first time,
reproduced To face p. 10

xxx A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

II. THE SIEGE OF TROY IN SHAKESPEARE'S ' LUCRECE ' AND IN SOME
FIFTEENTH-CENTURY DRAWINGS AND TAPESTRIES

6. PLATE I (A). Hector dissuaded from going to battle by his

\\omcnkind and by Priam. From a fragment of one of a series
of sketches in the Louvre for tapestries representing the Siege
of Troy.

PLATE I (B). A battle of Greeks and Trojans, with Trojan women
looking on from the walls. From an engraving after one of a
series of tapestries representing the Siege of Troy . To face p. 96

7. PLATE II. The sack of Troy, with the murder of Priam, the sacri

fice of Polyxena, &c. From one of a series of sketches in the
Louvre for tapestries representing the Siege of Troy . To face p. 98

8. Bodleian Aubrey MS. 8, fol. 45* . .... To face p. 120

9. The Platt of Frederick and Basilea . . . .To face p. 208

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO

SHAKESPEARE

A BOOK OF
HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

TO SHAKESPEARE <AFTER 300 YEAT(S

BRIGHT baffling Soul, least capturable of themes,
Thou, who display 'dst a life of commonplace,
Leaving no intimate word or personal trace
Of high design outside the artistry

Of thy penned dreams,
Still shalt remain at heart unread eternally.

Through human orbits thy discourse to-day,
Despite thy formal pilgrimage, throbs on
In harmonies that cow Oblivion,
And, like the wind, with all-uncared effect

Maintain a sway
Not fore- desired, in tracks unchosen and unchecked.

And yet, at thy last breath, with mindless note
The borough clocks as usual tongued the hour,
The Avon idled past the garth and tower,
Thy age was published on thy passing-bell

But in due rote

With other men's that year accorded a like knell.

B

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

And at the strokes some townsman (met, maybe,
And thereon queried by some squire's good dame
Driving in shopward) may have given thy name,
With, ' Yes, a worthy man and well-to-do ;

Though, as for me,
I knew him but by just a neighbour's nod, 'tis true.

' I' faith, few knew him much here, save by word,

He having elsewhere led his busier life ;

Though to be sure he left with us his wife.'

— * Ah, one of the tradesmen's sons, I now recall . . .

Witty, I've heard . . .
We did not know him . . . Well, good-day. Death comes to all.'

So — like a strange bright-pinioned bird we find
To mingle with the barn-door brood awhile,
Then vanish from their homely domicile —
Into man's poesy, we weet not whence,

Flew thy strange mind,
Lodged there a radiant guest, and sped for ever thence.

THOMAS HARDY.

February 14, 1916.

M. H. SPIELMANN

'THIS FIGURE, THAT THOU HET{E SEEST TUT

* IT is a great comfort, to my thinking/ wrote Charles Dickens to
William Sandys the antiquary, seventy years ago, * that so little is known
concerning the poet. It is a fine mystery ; and I tremble every day lest
something should come out. If he had had a Boswell, society wouldn't
have respected his grave, but would calmly have had his skull in the
phrenological shop-windows/

It is doubtless true enough. The curiosity of the ordinary man,
intensified in the hero-worshipper, has little respect for mystery and
still less patience with it. The desire of every thinker, the ambition of
every reasoning and contemplative mind, is to draw aside the curtain
that shrouds the unknown. The more elusive the solution the more
ardent the quest : the theologist of every age has sought to probe the
nature and mystery of the Godhead Itself.

To the biographer, as Carlyle declared, an authentic portrait of his
subject is an urgent necessity : he needs the facial testimony to examine
and cross-examine, to ponder, to analyse, to compare. The greatest of
those of whom no genuine portraits exist have frequently been a tempta
tion which the intellectual artist has not sought to resist. Shakespeare,
however, is relatively of our own day. The art of portraiture had
reached its zenith at about the time when he was moving upon the
world's stage, and its practice, tant bien que mal, was already common
in England. The two known portraits of the actor-poet which were
brought into existence near the time of his death were the work of
craftsmen unhappily but indifferently equipped, and not of poet-artists.
Whatever their skill in accurate draughtsmanship and modelling, they
lacked the power of rendering life, and the sense of beauty was not theirs.

It is therefore not surprising that, in course of time, people should
become dissatisfied with these matter-of-fact and banal representations,
so poorly executed by chisel and graver, despite the fact that Shake
speare's image had been by them authoritatively recorded. Dissatisfac
tion bred doubt ; in some, repudiation ; and in the desire to eliminate

B2

4 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

all grounds for scepticism and to establish or refute the authenticity of
the accepted portraits, a small phalanx of noisy, over-articulate de
votees clamoured for the opening of Shakespeare's grave in order that
the poet's features might be gazed upon and . . . photographed — if, as
was believed to be likely, the Stratford soil had stayed the decomposing
hand of Death. Alternatively, the skull might be studied, measurements
might be taken, diagrams and drawings made, whereby the portraits
could be tested, and — had the cold objectivity of the calm proposal
found favour and the request been granted — within a few weeks, we
may be sure, * society would have had his skull in the phrenological
shop- windows '.

But the finer feeling of the nation declared itself against so revolting
an experiment which had been so strenuously contended for on both
sides of the Atlantic. The argument that similar inquiries had been
carried into effect at the hands of the charnel-house explorer in the
case of Robert the Bruce, Burns, and a score of others not less celebrated,
fell upon ears either deaf or shocked ; and Dickens 's fear lest ' something
should come out ' was set at rest, likely enough, for ever. The addi
tional proof that was to silence cavillers and confirm still further the
confidence of the world in the only two portraits that have any real
claim to truth and genuine likeness had to be forgone ; and the effigy
in Holy Trinity Church in Stratford and the print by Martin Droeshout
were left to stand unassisted, as they easily may, without corroboration
dug up out of the desecrated tomb. Without any outrage of sentiment
they must justify themselves and vindicate one another. Many persons
unfamiliar with the study of iconography and unversed in comparative
portraiture may still find difficulty in reconciling some of the more super
ficial characteristics of the two likenesses : that is to say, the youthfulness
as rendered in Droeshout 's print, with the maturity presented by the Bust.

But how many know these two works as they really are, or were
intended to be ? How many have had the opportunity of judging of
Shakespeare's face as sculptor and engraver, each in his turn, represented
it ? Few — very few indeed. For the bust cannot now be seen, much
less judged, behind its coat of colour-decoration which in several
important respects contradicts the glyptic forms ; and the print as it
appears in the First Folio, and as it is known to the world, is almost
a travesty of the plate as Droeshout originally left it.

Let us consider these two portraits, and see how far we should
recognize in them the actual lineaments of the man Shakespeare as he
lived. First as to the Bust.

*/r

CjAa,kcjl3

M. H. SPIELMANN 5

In the first place we must dismiss from our recollection nearly all
the so-called * plaster casts from the original bust ' from which most
people derive their knowledge and receive their strongest impression,
and on which they form their opinion concerning Shakespeare's head
and features — because the vast majority of these objects are taken, not
from the bust itself, but from mere copies of it very inaccurately
modelled. We must look at the bust itself, which the younger Garret
Johnson cut.

When we examine closely and with attention the sculptor's naive
work, we realize to our surprise that this effigy (which, although it
gazes with such rapt ineptitude from its niche, appealed with curious
force to Chantrey, Landor, Washington Irving, and many others) has
been fundamentally modified both as to forms and expression by the
polychrome (technically called * beautifying ') applied by a painter who
wilfully defied the intention of the sculptor. The painted eyebrows
with their strongly arched sweep correspond ill with the carved indica
tions of them. The wellnigh formless lips frame a mouth little under
stood, it would seem, by the colourist. The full staring pupils, crudely
painted in, are barely natural in their doll-like gaze. In all these points
and more the painter's misrendering conceals the Shakespeare of the
sculptor's chisel, roughly but honestly carved.

Thus with its forms varied and expression changed, features are
thrown into inharmonious relief, and true dimensions and actual model
ling are gravely prejudiced. If this we owe to the original colouring,
supposing it to be unjustified, hardly could we withhold our sympathy
from the much-reviled Malone who in 1793 caused the ' beautifying '
to be over-painted with stone-colour ; for even those who fulminated
against his vandalism enjoyed, thanks to his so-called ' daubing ', a sight
denied to our generation. Not then did Shakespeare's open mouth
resolve itself into what has been called * a grin of death ' ; it revealed
the parted, speaking lips of one who declaimed, as an actor-poet might,
the words he had just set down on the paper at his hand : a conception
as simply and naturally imagined as it was clumsily and frankly realized.

If we assume that the present colours faithfully reproduce those
which were from the first employed, in order to impart an effect of
life, it may be deduced that the chromatic scheme was introduced with
the view of securing a truer resemblance than the sculptor had achieved.
What if the family and friends of the departed poet, dissatisfied with
young Garret Johnson's performance, had acted on his advice that
a * face-painter ' should be called in — as was a common practice — to give

6 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

the final touch of life which he himself had missed ? The colourist's duty
would be to bring the head into truer relation with the facts as these
were explained to him. But, even then, it must be remembered that the
present colouring is a relatively modern reconstitution of that of 1748-9,
before which time the painting was more perfect, according to Halliwell-
Phillipps, or contrarily, according to Malone, had not ever defaced
the plain stone of the bust. An element of uncertainty on this point
and on the value of the chromatic elements of the portrait must neces
sarily exist ; yet as to the truth of the main essentials of the sculptured
image no doubt can be entertained. For when all is said we must recog
nize here, as in the Droeshout print, the particularity of paramount
importance, the outstanding characteristic which is the unquestionable
test and touchstone of every portrait of the poet — the upright forehead,
the dome-like skull, which Professor Arthur Keith has shown to be
the * round head ' of the Bronze Age — identified as the physical mark
of the true Celt (as Europe understands the term) and the cranial
symbol of the world's finest artists and most inspired among the poets
and men of imagination.

Nor, in similar fashion, can the full significance of Martin Droes-
hout's print be wholly understood, even by those who study it in the
First Folio, because it is only in the earliest proof state that the head of
Shakespeare can be rightly and fully judged. For there the poet is
revealed, it may safely be inferred, as he was in early manhood. It is
a face we can accept — the visage of one little more than a youth, with
a slight downy moustache, a small lip-beard, a strong chin devoid of
growth, and fair eyebrows set low on the orbital ridges of the frontal
bone. The forehead is bald, perhaps prematurely, perhaps deliberately
shaved, either to conform to the sometime fashion which Hentzner's
Elizabethan records tell of, or else for greater ease in playing venerable
characters such as old Adam, Kno'well, and the like — such parts, indeed,
as young players of the period were commonly entrusted with : when
even boy-actors, such as the famous Pavy, might achieve a great
reputation by their rendering of them. In any case, it is * a noble
front', the full and lofty dome which the Bronze Age had brought here
from the Continent, the form that housed brains of poetic genius,
capable of the most exalted beauty of conception. So much, indeed,
has modern anthropology established. As for the frank young English
face- — the calm placidity of its observant gaze, the delicate firmness of
features and expression, the characteristic aspect of large sympathy held

M. H. SPIELMANN 7

in control by critical judgement, the strong reserve of individuality —
these have survived, in spite of all, the deficiencies of the young
Droeshout's art, of his stiffness of rendering, and his still inexperienced
hand. We have here, then, Shakespeare of the Sonnets and of Love's
Labour 's Lost rather than Shakespeare of the Tragedies.

Not elsewhere, it may be believed, do we come so close to the living
Man of Stratford as in the earliest proof of the print, which once be
longed to Halliwell-Phillipps but which years ago, alas, was acquired in
the United States. Not even in the early proof in the Bodleian Library
do we see him with anything like such vivid appearance of truth, because
not only is that a darker, heavier impression, but because it is besides
a later * state ' of the plate. In this retouched condition we recognize
in the worked-up forehead the beginnings of that * horrible hydro-
cephalous development ', as Mr. Arthur Benson called it, which in the
ordinary print as seen in the First Folio (and grossly exaggerated in the
Fourth) has struck a chill sentiment of revolt into the hearts of genera
tions of Shakespeare-lovers. In the manifest effort to add an appear
ance of advancing years to what had been a picture of ripe adolescence,
the inexperienced engraver impaired his plate and produced a portrait
almost as wooden as the painted bust. The broad, massive fore
head, with the hair growing naturally from the scalp, has here developed
a defiant bulbousness and a shape tending towards the conical, with locks
sprouting with strange suddenness, wig-like and artificial, from its side.
The re-formed and altered eyebrows, the darkened pupils which for
merly were fair, the distressing bagginess accentuated under the eyes,
the enlarged moustache smudging the upper lip to the confines of the
cheeks, the two-days' stubble added to the chin, the over-emphasized
line marking the division of jaw and neck, the forced lights and shadows
with consequent destruction of harmony and breadth of illumination —
these are further defects in the portrait by which Droeshout has made
Shakespeare known to all the world. They divest the portrait most
grievously of the appearance of life and of the largeness of nature which
are such striking qualities in the plate as the engraver first completed
and ' proved ' it. Nevertheless, and in spite of all, the eye of ordinary
discernment can penetrate this screen of errors, and through the short
comings of the artist recognize the life and nature which, with but
indifferent success it is true, he has sought to realize and interpret.

Nevertheless, to the unprejudiced beholder, this uncouth print,
with all its imperfections — * lamentable ', as Walpole pronounced it,
as a work of art — bears in its delineation the unmistakable stamp of

8 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

truth. Ver Huell,1 the enthusiastic biographer and critic of Houbraken
and the extoller of his freely-rendered engraving— the most popular of
all the renderings — of the Chandos portrait of Shakespeare, admits that
he was carried away by Droeshout's plate and was left cold by Hou
braken 's masterpiece of the burin. * The head is fine/ says he, in his
estimate of the Dutchman's prodigious performance, ' I might almost
say too fine, and I greatly prefer to this idealized bust-piece Martin
Droeshout's plate. There, indeed, we see the lineaments which so well
realize the author of Romeo not less than of Julius Caesar. What
nobility in the forehead ! — with what feeling has the artist rendered
the pensive and penetrating expression of the eyes and the gentle irony
of a smile that is softened by the sweetness of his soul ! '

Can we doubt that it was for its general truth that the portrait
was selected and published in the great Folio in spite of the artlessness
of the art, the stiffness of the pose, and the hardness of the execution ?
After all, there was no absolute necessity for the inclusion of a portrait
at all. There was even available (if the claims made on its behalf
could be accepted) the infinitely more romantic, more artistic, Italianate
portrait which we call the Chandos. What merit other than that
of invaluable authenticity could have constrained Shakespeare's
associates and friends to preface his immortal works, which they were
about to give to the world in so impressive a form, with an image so
indifferently rendered — an image clearly based on an original of the
Hilliard or early Zuccaro type, almost c primitive ' in manner ? Surely
the only motive and the sole justification for the adoption of such a
plate was the recognized genuineness and authority of the record.

Moreover, if we look critically at the two portraits — the one put
forth by the poet's admiring friends and fellow workers, and the other
by his mourning family and fellow townsmen — we find that in
their main essentials they are in substantial agreement and therefore
they corroborate one another. We must, of course, bear in mind the
widely different circumstances attendant on the production of these
portraits and the varied details characteristic of them : — the difference
of period — how the one portrait represents the sitter in his early prime,
and the other at the time of his death ; the difference of material — how
the one is sculptured roughly with the chisel in stone and intended to
be viewed at a distance, the other cut in metal by the graver, to be
printed on paper and scrutinized from a few inches away ; the difference
of personality and outlook of the artists — men of different craft, of
1 Jacobtis Houbraken et son ceuvre, par A. Ver Hiiell, 1875.

M. H. SPIELMANN 9

different individuality, and of difference in artistic conception which
they brought to their different tasks. Their sole personal points of
contact were that they shared weakness in technique and accomplish
ment and that they were called to their work without having the
inestimable advantage of sittings from the living model. We see in
these two works, notwithstanding undoubted imperfections, the inter-
confirmation of the great upright cranium, the straight nose, the large
wide-open eyes, even the mode, retained by the poet throughout his
life, of the moustache brushed upward and the mass of hair curling
heavily over the ears. These two representations, then, support one
another in their main essentials, in much the same manner and degree
as Chantrey's bust and Raeburn's painted portrait of Sir Walter Scott
confirm without exactly resembling one another, or, say, Nollekens's
bust and Reynolds 's painting of Laurence Sterne.

However great, therefore, the talent of artists may be, a painter's
portrait and a sculptor's bust are rarely in exact agreement save in the
salient items of resemblance, especially when years have elapsed between
the production of the two likenesses. This is the more marked when
unskilled hands have been at work — most marked of all when the por
traitists have been called upon to bring into existence a posthumous
likeness. When, in the same art, we find two painters such as Nasmyth
and Raeburn producing portraits of Robert Burns, at different ages, it
is true, but so dissimilar that few persons at the first glance, or even at
the second, would assert that the two pictures are supposed to represent
one and the same man — we cannot be surprised that the Stratford bust
and the Droeshout plate confirm one another mainly on points of
major importance and seem to differ only in superficial details and
unessentials.

There is a touch of absurdity, or at least of oddness, in the well-
nigh universal predilection displayed in favour of the Chandos portrait.
That the majority should select for special adulation this rather swarthy
face of foreign aspect, mainly in virtue of its relatively picturesque and
romantic guise, is perhaps not wholly surprising in a majority.
Moreover, it has the advantage over the two authentic portraits in
that it represents an obviously living man humanly and naturally
represented upon canvas. Even Burger was impressed by its ' refine
ment and melancholy ' in spite of its lack of expression, and as a
portrait he held it to be a pearl beyond price. But he, like the
majority (who have called for at least a dozen reproductions of this

io A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

portrait for each of those of truer value), took it blindly for granted
that this placid, sombre, and rather weak-willed, amiable personage
really pictures our English Shakespeare of pure midland stock.

It is nothing to them, or very little, that the early history of this
painting is more than suspect, and that the traditions woven round it
as to origin and early ownership cannot withstand the test of strict
investigation. The fact that demonstrably false witness has been
borne as to the picture's source, and that fiction mars the tracing of its
early passage from hand to hand — that the chain of evidence comprises
links which are not merely lamentably weak but which are sometimes
found to be not really links at all — has affected little, or scarcely at all,
the popularity of the portrait. Too often the subject of grotesque per
versions at the hands of engravers reckless and indifferent to truth and
character, it has conquered the world, spreading in every land the
queerest notion of the type of English manhood.

This is not the occasion on which to enter any more closely than
has here been done into the validity of the claims on public confidence
of the Chandos portrait ; but the picture cannot be ignored, if only for
the reason that the Chandos Shakespeare is undeniably the Shakespeare
recognized by all men. It was even published in the form of engraving
by the Shakespeare Society itself. The story that it belonged to D'Ave-
nant (who, we are told, for the sake of his personal aggrandizement
and self-conceit, claimed blood-kinship with his poet-godfather), has
gone for much. The knowledge that Sir Godfrey Kneller made an
impressive copy of it at the time when it was Betterton's, has gone for
a good deal more. For it may well be assumed that Kneller, quintes
sence of vanity as he was, would scarcely have demeaned his genius,
of which he entertained so fantastic an opinion, by copying a mere
fanciful picture which, without authenticity to justify it, could but dis
honour his brush. Nor presumably would Dryden have prized it as
he did — prized it as Jonson loved Shakespeare, * on this side idolatry '
— nor would he have apostrophized it with such an emphasis of rapture
and admiration, had he known it for a copy of doubtful value. There
is here, at least, sufficient evidence to show that not more than five-and-
seventy years after Shakespeare's death the Chandos portrait was already
held in high esteem and was respected as a record of presumably
unchallenged truth.

The reproduction in this Book of Homage of Kneller 's famous
picture, now for the first time set before the public since it was painted

Jleao from, dir bcdfrtuJ^ncUfr'j •copy' <r£ tfL(>
Lt Iza^Li

M. H. SPIELMANN n

two hundred and twenty-three years ago (in 1693), will certainly be
welcomed as a matter of singular interest by all who unite to-day in
offering tribute to Shakespeare's genius. To the owner of it, the Earl
Fitzwilliam, who some years ago courteously permitted me to have
the picture photographed, are due our thanks for the gratification with
which the publication will be received.

The portrait is much larger than the Chandos ; it is, indeed, a full
half-length. The head seems, by its undoubted nobility, to justify
Dry den's paean of praise and veneration in that Fourteenth Epistle of
1694 with which he acknowledged and rewarded the painter's offering,
in a masterpiece of super-flattery nicely adjusted to Kneller's vast
powers of consumption. Who does not remember his lines ? —

4 Shakespear, thy Gift, I place before my sight ;
With awe, I ask his Blessing ere I write ;
With Reverence look on his Majestick Face ;
Proud to be less, tho' of his Godlike Race.
His Soul Inspires me, while thy Praise I write,
And I, like Teucer, under Ajax fight.'

The face, which so far departs from that of the Chandos portrait
as to add a dignity, almost a majesty (as Dryden truly says), quite
unknown to the parent-picture, is surely a conception not unworthy
to represent the creator of the Plays and Poems. It is not surprising
that it should have fired John Dry den's imagination, still less that it
should appeal with equal force to ours, seeing that the painter has
plainly sought to improve the forms and to modify the Latin character
of the original, in the light of Droeshout's print.

It is true that the skull is not the skull figured by the Stratford bust
and in the Folio print. Yet the forehead is now much more upright
than in the Chandos picture, even though it is not yet perpen
dicular enough ; the high cheek-bones have been lowered and brought
inwards, whereby the face is become narrower and the corresponding
projection of the contour reduced ; the nose is thinner and less aquiline,
and the nostrils more refined in modelling, so that the whole feature
approximates far more to that in the print. On the other hand, the
cheeks have been hollowed and the mouth straightened, while the falling
moustache belies the usual mode affected by the Poet and thus defies
the tradition of the three portraits which could have served for guidance.
Kneller then asserts himself ; he imparts to the eyes a look of intelli
gence and elevated thought, and invests the whole with a general air
of authority lamentably absent from the original. The result, in spite

12 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

of all discrepancies, is a brave and skilful attempt, felicitously realized,
the success made possible by consummate art, to render the Chandos
portrait acceptable to the adherents of the more authoritative likeness
of the Folio, and to conciliate, as well as art could do it, the objections
of the critical. It is clearly a copy from this picture which Ranelagh
Barret made for Edward Capell — the portrait which generations of
men have seen in the Library of Trinity College, Cambridge, and have
criticized for its heavy-handed divarications from the Chandos original.

Here, then, was expressed in the sincerest and most reverential
manner possible to them, the homage paid severally by English Poetry
and foreign Art of the seventeenth century to Shakespeare's memory
in Shakespeare's person. In the spirit of the superlative admiration
and esteem thus conveyed in Shakespeare's own century, we of the
present, on the three hundredth anniversary of the day when the
poet of all time lay down and slept, approach the altar of the world's
gratitude and bring our offering of thanks and praise. We may muse
upon his personality and picture to ourselves what manner of man was
he in outward physical aspect. We can no longer hope to discover a
new true portrait of him such as will confirm or correct the true authori
tative likenesses we already have. With these we may rest content,
for we recognize in their main indications the lineaments of the face
which met the gaze of his own day, and the form of the massive head
that gave lodging to the sovereign brain, mightiest in powers of humanity
and art, that has enriched and ennobled the modern world.

M. H. SPIELMANN.

AUSTIN DOBSON 13

THE <PJDDLE
W.S. 1564-1616

WHAT like wert thou, O Riddle of our race,
Whose steadfast eye the mind of man could see,

And, by excess of intuition, trace
In the rude germ its full maturity ?

Thou, ' of imagination all compact ',
Alone among thy fellows, could 'st ally

The thought and word, the impulse and the act,
Cause and effect, unerringly. But why ?

Who shall make answer ? To our ken a shade,
Thou — for whom souls lay open — art as dark

As shapeless phantoms of the night that fade
With daybreak and the singing of the lark.

Men may explore thy Secret still, yet thou,
Serene, unsearchable, above them all,

Look'st down, as from some lofty mountain-brow,
And art thyself thine own Memorial.

AUSTIN DOBSON,

i4 A BOOK OF HOMAGE. TO SHAKESPEARE

DT^EAM OF TAT^NASSUS

Fresh from letters of Shakespearian friends, and sadly wondering how
in this War of Nations our immortal Poet would come to his meed of honour,
after three hundred years of mission over the globe, I chanced to raise my
eyes to my library wall, whereon there hangs the Arundel copy of RaphaeVs
fresco of Parnassus in the Stanza of the Vatican. There Apollo with his
lyre holds a conclave of the Muses, round whom are gathered the poets of all
ages, whilst blind old Homer chants the Wrath of Achilles and the Burial
of Hector, his brother Bards standing wrapt in admiration and awe.

So musing and wandering in thought, I fell asleep in my easy chair and
dreamed. And this was my Dream.

THE DREAM

THE Muse Melpomene, with a crown of vine-leaves holding a tragic
mask, seemed enthroned on the sacred Mount of Inspiration. Beside
her was Thaleia, having a comic mask and a wreath of ivy : both presided
at the altar on which I saw a tripod of gold inscribed TW v^io-rca.

Around and below the Muses was gathered a throng, whose noble
countenances seemed to be those of familiar friends, and their stately
robes denoted various races, manners, and ages. All seemed to be
leading towards the altar, that he might receive the tripod, one whom
I recognized at once by his lofty forehead, trim beard, flowing locks, and
his air of serene thought. He seemed to shrink from their attentions,
bewildered almost by their praises, as one hardly worthy of such a prize.

The Muse with a gesture was inviting those around her to express
their suffrages in order that by general consent she might award the
honour to the most fit. She pointed first to a noble old man with bald
head and venerable beard, deep sad eyes, and the shrunken limbs of
a mighty veteran in arms. The aged warrior stood forth, and I heard

IFREDERIC HARRISON 15

his solemn voice that rang through the assembly as if he had been Isaiah
the son of Amoz calling out to the people of Zion.

* Fair Goddess/ he said, * the golden tripod is his of right, in these
latter days of wildly-whirring poesy. The old order changeth. In very
truth and no longer in fable, the whole earth reels and quakes. In old
times a tragedy was an act of public worship. We gave the people
Hymns of Valour and Psalms of contrition for sin. But the ancient
Gods and Heroes of seven- foot stature whom we knew are no more.
To-day the new generations have thoughts and pleasures, knowledge
and interests, that we old soldiers could not share and are ready to cast
aside. I have learnt that ours was but a petty corner of the earth : our
fears, our hopes, our joys, our loves never roamed over the vast world
they tell me is now open to men — a world of which I had but some dim
vision, but enough to revolt my very soul. I am too old to learn this new
way. I had no heart to mingle Beauty and Mirth with the catastrophes
of Fate and the agonies of the Soul which swept through my brain.
Let me go back to my lonely seat, where I rest musing on the glories
and the faith of Hellas. The prizes of life are for those who are happy
and who are young.'

Then there stepped up to him the most beautiful and the most
graceful of elders, having the sweetest voice ever uttered by man.

* We too ', he said, * yield willingly the prize of tragedy to this youth.
Our ancient world is past. We love to recall how beautiful it was. We
hope they now enjoy a world as beautiful and as sunlit as was our rare
City of the violet crown. As our glorious Chief has said, we who lived
to celebrate our radiant Athene could ill bear the tumultuous trumpet-
ings, of which we catch faint echoes in our Islands of the Blessed. If
we ever sought to touch the deepest nerves of sympathetic hearts by
tales of agony and guilt, we would ever relieve the tension at intervals
with soft melodies and ethereal raptures. We are told now of genera
tions of men built of sterner mould, who have no need of the rest given
by choral visions of pure delight. They say they have other kinds of rest
and of relief ; nor do they mind if Pindaric rhapsodies are thrust into
the midst of hot action and visible horrors. To us Beauty, Dignity, and
Grace were Divine gifts too precious to be forborne for an hour, even
in the midst of the most tragic peripeteia. Let us trust these will never
be forgotten in the multitudinous blare of Modern Art.'

* Why ! ' called out aloud a nobly bearded Chief who thrust himself
boldly before the elder pair, * Did I not tell you that the " grand air >:
and obsolete sublimities would weary any public really up-to-date ?

16 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

I was myself a prophet of " modernity ", of the " new woman ", of the
" real man ". That youth from the Island of the West only followed
my lead of realism and of romance. I vote for him, for he quite freed
the world of your Marathonian conventions and superstitious mysteries.'

* Ah ! my old anarchist friend/ cried out a jovial reveller who had
been making mouths at the last speaker behind a comic mask, ' Yes !
you opened new ways indeed ; but you have yet to prove that it was
opened in the right way. To make the Gods chop logic and to turn
heroes into street beggars would vulgarize, not modernize, Art. I too
vote for the young one, who still seems unaware how close he is to some
old friends. His virago Queen might kill her Sovereign but not her
own babies, nor did she mount up off the stage to heaven in a dragon car.
And when he brought on a veteran King in rags, the poor old man was
not a disguised Hero but stark mad, and yet withal he felt himself to be —
and he looked it — every inch a King. There was nothing sordid in his
rags.

* Again, gracious Ladies, let me add that our friend here wears his
comic wreath just as well as his tragic wreath. None of us old fellows
ever pretended to wear both. He alone has mingled both : he made
Mirth and Terror — Fantasy and Reality — join in one irresistible dance
of glorious life. I never tried my hand at Terror or Pity, just as old
Marathon there never touched the lyre of Mirth or the scourge of Satire.
Our candidate for the supreme prize joined Awe and Loveliness, Mirth
and Horror, Fun and Fantasy ; making both embrace to the begetting
of a radiant progeny of immortal sons and daughters that shall outlive
Time. Him, O ye divine mistresses of the Mount of Inspiration,
O ye bards of fame and name — him I proclaim to be in truth —

' Euge ! Optime ! ' — called out an Imperial Roman in his toga
marked with a broad purple band, looking for all the world like a Nero
in melodrama ; ' surely, the gentle youth only adopted and developed
my scheme of Art. They often tell me that I was too fond of violence,
of blood, of stage surprises ; that I relied too much on oratory,
machinery, and ghosts. Ah ! sweet Goddesses of a gentler race, you,
I trust, never saw a Roman tribunal nor an amphitheatre, nor ever heard
a Roman mob yell over a hecatomb of gladiators. I only gave them what
they loved. Our young friend's " general " public would have blood
too — enjoyed a stage heaped with corpses, and I dare say forced him to
show them tortures, monsters, and ghosts enough. He had to do what
I did to please them rather than myself. And he used, as so many

FREDERIC HARRISON 17

other later poets did, not a few of the inventions they all borrowed
from me.'

Now here I noticed a group of poets standing together and quite
apart, whose elaborate costumes and air of superior refinement seemed
to mark them out as masters of some special culture. Two of them had
a mien of almost religious solemnity, whilst two others seemed to beam
with keen wit and native humour. With the measured cadences of
a speech of subtle modulation and an air of studious courtesy, the
younger of the foremost pair stood forth and spoke thus.

' Our humble obeisance to the August Ladies who so graciously
preside over us to-day ! In our time we sought to maintain in all things
the superb manner of the Grand Monarch we served and of the elegant
society whose favour we enjoyed. Even in the hour of deepest passion,
we felt that deportment must not be forgotten. High Art means tone,
a harmony of colour, just balance of values, imperturbable self-restraint.
We hear that in the new age these essentials have been too little prized.
Alas ! we know that our ancient dynasty is no more. Republicans and
heretics have it all their own way. A new world, they cry, demands a
new Art. Be it so ! We shall not dispute their claim. Culture has its
own world still : and there it has more crowns than it can wear with
grace and ease in an age of tumult and change.'

' There is no need to retire/ called out a rasping voice behind the
last speaker, and I saw one thrust himself forward, one whose curled
wig, lace frill and ruffles, eye of hawk and biting lips seem the embodi
ment of an entire age. * The ancients can never be dethroned,' he
cried ; ' good manners, sense, truth, realities can never be displaced by
extravagance, brutalities, and the ravings of genius run mad.'

Then I saw the last speaker roughly pulled back by a passionate
orator with the voice of a sea-captain on his quarter-deck in a gale.
He shouted out : * Romance, Nature, Passion rule this age : the fetters
of old times are broken : Democracy has triumphed : and the life of
democrats is cast in a world of variety, tumult, and spasm. All hail to
our immortal master, who shows us humanity freed from the bonds of
antique superstition ! '

I saw too a venerable poet in a Spanish cloak of the Renascence,
whose towering front, pointed beard, and flowing locks might recall to
us our own poet had he lived to reach some eighty years. He stood
apart, spoke low, but he beamed a look of agreement and welcome.
When appealed to by others for his vote, he said simply : * I too accept
your verdict, though I belong to a different world of thought, of manners,

c

i8 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

and of faith. Those whom I knew, they who knew me, had ways of
their own, their own ideals to worship, their own honour to guard.
It was to glorify these that I laboured. There is room for us
all, if each of us in truth holds fast to himself, his people, and his
saints.'

Little too was said by another whose Roman features I could not
forget, having seen them carved in marble on his tomb in Santa Croce.
' The world has passed on far beyond me and the heroes and demigods
with whom I held converse in spirit. Republican as I am by my reason,
I stand fast by all that is heroic, noble, and proud. There is no field for
us of the Old Guard now. We leave to you the field of the new world of
which we know so little, to whose favours we so rarely aspire.' And he
wrapped around his noble head the martial cloak he wore, and he with
drew as if he had been Julius as he fell at the base of the Statue of
Pompeius.

And now the Muse, beaming on our poet, seemed to be inviting
him to come forward to receive the prize, so clearly awarded by the
general voice of his brother bards. Then there stepped forth a truly
magnificent personage, whose grand countenance might serve for the
Olympian Zeus of Pheidias, albeit he wore the civilian dress of a modern
Teuton.

* Gracious Ladies and brother Spirits,' he said, * our friend here is
still so much overcome by the welcome he has received that he shrinks
from attempting to express his thanks in person, and he begs me to
speak in his name. As we two sate apart communing together on the
boundless range of our Art, he assures me that he was hardly conscious
of intending all the profound ideas that his friends of the later times
have discovered for him. He vows that he never put himself personally
to his audience at all, and yet they now try to make him out a dozen
different men rolled into one. He says that he never enjoyed such
training, nor pretended to such learning, as have those who have spoken
in his honour. His life had given him little leisure for study, nor was
he free to work out in ease all his thoughts, as he would have desired.
He was a servant of his Sovereign, a humble member of a working
guild, and the simple minister to the enjoyments of the gallants and good
fellows of his time. How many a page, he almost moaned out to me
in our private talks, he would have torn up, blotted out, or re-written,
if he ever had any sort of idea that his too hurried words would be
remembered by any but those who first heard them in public. Once
or twice in his life, he says, he did deliberately revise and publish to the

FREDERIC HARRISON 19

world some pieces of his work to which his whole soul was given. Too
often, he now learns, his compositions have been impudently plundered,
grossly misread, and carelessly printed. His short life has been one of
storm and stress, of jollity and good fellowship, of lightning work to
meet peremptory calls which his official duties would not suffer him to
neglect. Too often, he assures me, his name had been used to cover
that which was none of his. So conscious is he of this, and that even
some of his own was far from his best, that he wishes me to speak in his
name.

* Let me add one word more. All of those who have spoken to-day
lived long lives of ease and devotion to their art : all but one of them
lived to an honoured old age. Such was not the lot of our friend, who
ended his bodily life, after years of trouble and of labour, much earlier
than they. And when he gave up his daily task of supplying incessant
new matter for his colleagues, and had withdrawn in the maturity of his
powers to his native town, where he might recast all that he cared to
leave to the future — then by a sudden stroke he came to an unexpected
end. It was for this reason that his work has needed such generations
of interpreters and commentators — of which my own countrymen, we
are proud to believe, have been the most generous and the most indus
trious. We all hail him — but for the negligible accident of his birth —
to be one of our own most cherished glories.'

* Sir ! ' called out a burly figure in a short wig, surrounded by
a group of admiring friends — and the big man spoke with the voice of
one who never suffered contradiction — * Sir ! you are quite right to
admit that our poet was not always at his best vein, and did sometimes
forget common-sense, nature, and plain speech. We have quite cleared
up these occasional slips at home, whilst our foreign friends have made
mountains out of molehills. And as to the " accident of birth "/ he
said to a short man, with a singularly speaking countenance, whose
arm he held, * why ! Davy, we of the West Midlands think it no
" accident " at all. Sir ! it is the hub of this world, and our man is its
King.'

Here I noticed a somewhat hectic youth with a big head and a shock
of red hair, call out in a thin shrill voice — * No ! I will not allow a word
of his to be wrong. It was all so sublime, ineffable, ecstatic ! ' But his
passionate utterance was lost in the tide of applause from the throng
that pressed on behind him. They came on in their thousands, bearing
the standards of their nations. I could see the Tricolour in many bands
and of many colours, some upright, some crosswise, the Stars and

C 2

20 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

Stripes, Black Eagles, Lions, Strange Beasts — even the Dragon and
the Chrysanthemum flag. Long serried ranks of the Poets of all ages,
races, and speech, poured on in troops that seemed unending. All by
voice and gesture invited the Muse to confer on him the Golden
Tripod.

But here my Dream ended — as Dreams do end— just as the great award
was about to be made.

FREDERIC HARRISON.

LAURENCE BINYON 2i

To other voices, other majesties,
Removed this while, Peace shall resort again.
But he was with us in our darkest pain
And stormiest hour : his faith royally dyes
The colours of our cause ; his voice replies
To all our doubt, dear spirit ! heart and vein
Of England 's old adventure ! his proud strain
Rose from our earth to the sea-breathing skies.

Even over chaos and the murdering roar

Comes that world- winning music, whose full stops

Sounded all man, the bestial and divine;

Terrible as thunder, fresh as April drops !

He stands, he speaks, the soul-transfigured sign

Of all our story, on the English shore.

LAURENCE BINYON,

22 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

SOME STT^AT THOUGHTS

As the editor of this volume tells me it is desired to include in it
stray thoughts jotted down without the formality of an essay, even if
they do no more than suggest some points or lines of thought on which
readers may agree with or differ from the writer, I have put down a few
such points. One of them has often been noted, but it may be noted
again, because it comes more and more back to whoever, in reading
other great poets, cannot help comparing them to Shakespeare. He is
the one among them all who least bears the imprint of a particular time
or a particular local environment. Many critics have proved to their
own satisfaction that he could only have been an Englishman of the
sixteenth century. Heinrich Heine's famous dictum notwithstanding,
we can all bring plenty of arguments to show that Shakespeare's genius
was an English genius, in the legitimate line of English poetical develop
ment, with Chaucer before him, with Milton and Dry den and many
another after him, however much he surpassed them all. Nevertheless,
the fact remains that we can quite well think of him as detached from
any age or country in a sense in which we cannot so think of Dante
or Ariosto, Milton or Moliere or Goethe. And with this goes the fact
that there is no great writer whose personal character and tastes and
likings we can so little determine from his writings. We cannot even
tell whether he had any, and what, political opinions. There is nothing
to indicate, or even to furnish material for conjecturing, what religious
doctrines he held— a thing more remarkable in his time than it would
be in ours. Many ingenious attempts have been made to fix upon
particular passages as conveying views that were distinctively his own,
but when all is said and done how little positive result remains. We
do not even know what places he had visited nor what he had read,
nor what poets had influenced him. He knew some Latin, but in the
Roman plays there is no trace of Virgil or Lucan. There is but little
trace in Troilus and Cressida of Homer, except in the character of
Thersites, probably inspired by Chapman's translation of the Iliad.

VISCOUNT BRYCE 23

The story is of course post-classical, but the action is laid in Troy.
Was he ever at Dover, where men gathered samphire on the cliffs ?
Had he ever seen the misty mountain tops at dawn ? The Malvern hills,
not visible from Stratford, were the nearest hills one could call mount
ains, though by no means lofty. (So one may ask whether Bunyan's
Delectable Mountains in the Pilgrim's Progress were the chalk downs
of Bedfordshire.) Or did his imagination vivify what he had heard of
as readily as what he had seen ? His mind seems to mirror everything
alike, as the surface of his gently flowing Avon mirrors whirling clouds
and blue sky, the noonday rays and the dying glow of sunset.

This detachment, this habit of presenting all types of character, all
phases of life and forms of passion, with the same impartial insight,
may perhaps be said to belong to every great dramatist. It is the drama
tist's business. Moliere is an example. Yet each of the other great
dramatists has provided us with better data for guessing at what he
was himself than Shakespeare has done. In him the intellect is strikingly
individual in its way of thinking and its way of expressing thought, but
it is all developed from within, having caught up very little from time
or place, and it seems somehow distinct from the man, as others saw
him moving about in the daily life of London or Warwickshire.
We recognize now and then in other poets something that we call
Shakespearian because it reminds us of Shakespeare's peculiar forms
of expression. But this distinctive quality in his thought and style,
marked though it is, does not reveal the man ; perhaps not even in the
Sonnets, which seem, if one may venture an opinion on so controversial
a subject, to be rather dramatic than personal.

Dante has an amazing range of thought and power of making his
characters live, but how intensely personal he is ! So also — not to speak
of men like Horace or Pope, who weave themselves into the texture of
their verse — so is Lucretius, so are Petrarch, Milton, Wordsworth,
Goethe, Shelley, Byron, Leopardi, and in less measure Pindar and
Virgil. We feel as if we could get near them and imagine them as they
were in life. Of all the great imaginative works, those which are likest
to Shakespeare's in this impersonality of the author, this supreme gift
of seeing all phases of life and presenting them all with the same fidelity
to the infinite variety of nature, are the Homeric poems and especially
the Iliad. (Think of Nestor and Achilles, Priam and Andromache.)
There is in those poems something of what one may call (if the apparent
contradiction be permissible) the sympathetic aloofness of Shakespeare.
His aloofness is neither cold nor cynical : it is the detachment needed

24 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

for an observation which sees calmly, and therefore can mete out equal
justice to all that it sees.

One is tempted to connect with this detached attitude in Shake
speare his apparent indifference to fame. A poet's want of interest in
the fate of his own work is so rare that it might lead us to fancy that
he did not know how good that work was. (Read and consider what
Robert Browning says about him in Bishop Blougram's Apology.) Is
there any parallel in the great masters of literature to this indifference ?
Can it be explained by the spontaneity and seeming absence of effort
with which he composed, as if this made him feel that there could be
nothing wonderful in what came to him so easily ? Did he enjoy the
process of creation so much as not to care what happened to the product
when the process was over ? Or are we to think that that sense of the
insignificance and transitoriness of all human things, which is every
now and then discerned as an undercurrent of his thought, extended
itself to his own work ? When the time came when he had no longer
occasion to write, did he, like Prospero, break his wand, with no sigh
of regret ?

We shall never exhaust the Shakespearian problems. A time may
come when scholars will be much more nearly agreed than they are now
as to which of the plays, or which parts of the doubtful plays, are really
from his hand, just as scholars are more agreed now than they were
seventy years ago as to the date and authorship of most of the books
of the New Testament. But the questions we ask about the relation of
the genius to the man will remain, and may be no nearer solution when
the next centenary arrives.

BRYCE.

CARDINAL GASQUET 25

THERE are few, probably, who have not derived from Shakespeare's
writings at least some part of the inspiration of their lives, and have not
found in his wise words practical encouragement in times of difficulty
and distress. In these anxious days, when the whole power of England
and its Allies is engaged in the defence of liberty and justice, no words
of any modern writer could light the fires of national pride and devotion
as do Shakespeare's lofty expressions of patriotism and affection for his
country, —

This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle.

The thought of the great and ever-watchful fleet, to which we owe
to-day so much, recalls the lines, —

O, do but think,

You stand upon the rivage, and behold
A city on the inconstant billows dancing,
For so appears this fleet majestical.

Whilst to those who are able and yet hesitate to take up the burden of
the struggle the poet seems to say, —

Who is he, whose chin is but enriched
With one appearing hair, that will not follow
Those call'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France ?

But probably it is the personal debt that we owe to the inspiring words
of the * immortal bard ' that draws us to him and demands our individual
homage. Speaking for myself, I confess that I owe to the penetrating
fire of his verse more than I can say. I was fortunate enough in my early
days to have my lot cast in a school where by long tradition a play of
Shakespeare was acted each year, and I well remember the effect of the
atmosphere we breathed during the weeks of preparation, when the
rhythm of the Poet's incomparable language was always ringing in our
ears. Alas ! — at least in my opinion — modern requirements have caused
this annual feast of Shakespearian poetry to be discontinued, and in

26 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

its place is possibly substituted some play, studied like the classic of
a past age.

In reality Shakespeare should never be regarded as the poet of past
times. His position in the world of letters is similar to that of Dante.
What must strike any observer who lives in Italy is the influence exerted
by the latter over the people, even in these days. His verses seem to
come to their lips on every occasion as the truest expression of their
inmost feelings. It should be the same with us in regard to Shakespeare,
for his words aptly give form to almost every lofty thought, even in our
days. Why this is so is clear. His poems do not merely express the
peculiar sentiments of the age in which they were written ; nor describe
only characters with which we are no longer familiar. They are for
every age : and for this reason, because they represent nature as it is
at all times. * Nothing ', wrote Dr. Johnson, ' can please many, and
please long, but just representations of general nature.' And in applying
this truth to Shakespeare he says that he ' is above all writers, at least
above all modern writers, the poet of nature ; the poet that holds up
to his readers a faithful mirror of manners and of life. His characters
are not modified by the customs of particular places, unpractised by
the rest of the world. . . . They are the genuine progeny of common
humanity, such as the world will always supply, and observation will
always find. His persons act and speak by the influence of those general
passions and principles by which all minds are agitated and the whole
system of life is continued in motion. In the writings of other poets
a character is too often an individual ; in those of Shakespeare, it is
commonly a species.'

This explains the attraction which the immortal works of our great
national poet has for us to-day, and it is the fundamental reason for the
willing homage we pay to his genius.

My special admiration for his plays and poems is based, too, on
other considerations. I am astonished at the accurate knowledge he
displays of the moral teachings and doctrines of the Church. His ethics
are irreproachable. Conscience, according to Shakespeare's philosophy,
is man's supreme guide ; God's law should be the rule of his life. Man's
free will, strengthened by prayer and God's grace, can master his lower
nature and enable him to rise to better things and gain for him an ever
lasting reward. His whole conception of the dignity and position of
man is lofty and true. Indeed, one of the most beautiful and accurate
expressions of the Christian life to be found in any lay writer occurs in
Sonnet CXLVI.

CARDINAL GASQUET 27

To Shakespeare man's nature is complex. If his soul can reach into
the unseen world, his body is but of the earth and has appetites in
common with the beasts. How clearly, for example, Hamlet puts this
teaching : * What a piece of work is a man ! How noble in reason ! how
infinite in faculty ! in form, in moving, how express and admirable !
in action how like an angel ! in apprehension how like a god ! the
beauty of the world ! the paragon of animals ! '

Or again : how clearly the poet states his belief in the existence of
the immortal soul that man holds from God, and in the responsibility
he incurs on this account :

What is man,

If his chief good and market of his time
Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.

Then as to morality in general : however coarse the poet may
appear to us at times, in words, jests, or insinuations, according to the
manner of his age, no professed moralist could be more severe on vice
than he shows himself in his poetry. To him God is no mere abstract
force or principle, but the Almighty Creator of all things, who has a
personal care of all who have come from His hands. He is the * high
all-seer ' and has countless eyes to view men's acts. He is omniscient ;
knows when we are falsely accused ; never slumbers nor sleeps ; reads
the hearts of men, and in Heaven * sits a Judge, that no king can corrupt '.
He is our Father, cares for the aged, feeds the ravens and caters for the
sparrow. He is the widow's * champion and defence ' ; is the * upright,
just, and true disposing God ' ; is the one supreme appeal — ' God above
deal between thee and me '. He is the guardian of the night, * when the
searching eye of heaven is hid ', &c. He

To believing souls
Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair.

Mercy is His attribute : * 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ', and His mercy
constrains us to be merciful to our brethren. All human duties and
obligations are founded on our duty to Him. Kings and all in authority
are His deputies and ministers. Man and wife are united in Him, and
therefore marriage is indissoluble. This great God, too, is the Lord
of armies.

O ! thou, whose captain I account myself,
Look on my forces with a gracious eye;
Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath.
That they may crush down with a heavy fall

28 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

The usurping helmets of our adversaries.
Make us thy ministers of chastisement,
That we may praise thee in thy victory!
To thee I do commend my watchful soul,
Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes ;
Sleeping and waking! O defend me still!

Instances might be multiplied almost indefinitely of the true, solid
teaching on Christian faith and morals which is to be found in Shake
speare's plays and poems. If only for this reason I gladly bow in homage
to him for his imperishable work.

But my admiration and reverence for his name are strengthened
by his very reticence, for what he might have said under the peculiar
circumstances of the times in which he lived and did not say. In the
* spacious days ' o£ Queen Elizabeth, and at the beginning of the seven
teenth century, the clergy as a class, with the monks and nuns of the
old religion, were not popular. The friar, the monk, and the priest were
at this time considered to be fair game for the coarse jest and ribald
witticism of poet and playwright. To attack their fair name would have
been to tickle the ears of the crowd. Yet we may search the plays of
Shakespeare through and through, and not find any such trait. On the
contrary, the liberality of his treatment of the clergy is apparent every
where, and even his sympathy is evidenced in more than one instance.
A striking example of this is to be seen in his play of King John, not so
much by what he wrote as by what he omitted to write. It is certain
that in this play he revised the old play of The Troublesome Reign of
King John, which contains a ribald scene describing the ransacking
of an abbey. Shakespeare deliberately omitted this scene in re-casting
the play. That it must have been deliberate we can hardly doubt, since
he makes few such omissions. Here, then, the poet had an opportunity
of appealing to the coarse tastes of his age and of ingratiating himself
with all who desired to blacken the reputations of those who belonged
to the * old order ', and refused to take it. We can see in the works of
some of his contemporaries, such as Greene in his Friar Bacon, or
Marlowe in his Jew of Malta, what excellent capital for popularity
he set aside as unworthy of his muse.

In the same way, in dealing with English history, it is remarkable
that he left on one side subjects which might have purchased popularity.
The overthrow of the Papal authority, as it was treated in the anonymous
play of The Troublesome Reign of King John, or in The Faerie Queene ;
the gunpowder plot, as used by Ben Jonson in his Catiline ; the destruc
tion of the Armada, as treated by Dekker ; the glorification of Elizabeth,

CARDINAL GASQUET 29

as added by Fletcher to Henry VIII, were all subjects which would
certainly lend themselves to catching the popular sentiment, and which we
can have no doubt were of set purpose left on one side by Shakespeare.
This deliberate silence, therefore, and this refusal to bid for popularity
by joining in the chorus of defamation of the past so freely indulged
in by other writers of his day, in my opinion raises Shakespeare to a
pedestal high above, not merely his contemporaries, but above even such
illustrious men as Spenser and Milton. If we grant that it was aesthetics,
and high art rather than ethics which counselled him to take this course,
even this does not detract from the largeness of mind which preserved
him from the temptation to pander to the prejudices of the time.

For this reason, too, I honour and reverence the memory of this
great poet, and am pleased to respond to this call for homage.

F. A. CARD. GASQUET,

ROME,

PALAZZO DI S. CALISTO
IN TRASTEVERE.

30 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

FOR ^fPHL 23RD

1616-1916

ONE thing to-day

For England let us pray —

That, when this bitterness of blood is spent,

Out of the darkness of the discontent

Perplexing man with man, poor pride with pride,

Shall come to her, and loverly abide,

Sure knowledge that these lamentable days

Were given to death and the bewildered praise

Of dear young limbs and eager eyes forestilled,

That in her home, where Shakespeare's passion grew

From song to song, should thrive the happy-willed

Free life that Shakespeare drew.

JOHN DRINKWATER,
BIRMINGHAM.

WILLIAM BARRY

THE CATHOLIC ST^IJV IN SHAK£SPEACKIL

' To one that knew nothing of Christian beliefs ', said Lafcadio
Hearn, * the plays of Shakespeare must remain incomprehensible.' For
religion lays bare the heart of a nation, even as it shapes its law and
custom. Carry le has anticipated the interpreter of Japan. * In some
sense ', he allows, * this glorious Elizabethan era with its Shakespeare,
as the outcome and flowerage of all which had preceded it, is itself
attributable to the Catholicism of the Middle Ages. The Christian
Faith, which was the theme of Dante's song, had produced this Practical
Life which Shakespeare was to sing.' Hence the supreme poet could
never be a Puritan. The question is not so much personal to the man
of Stratford-on-Avon, whether he conformed to the Church by law
established or stood out as a recusant. We pay homage to something
larger and deeper than the individual who has become its mouthpiece
during all future days ; we recognize the genius, rightly so termed,
that sums up and for ever crystallizes an otherwise extinct world by
means of him. Therefore, to quote Carlyle once more, he is * the
noblest product ' of Catholicism ; but, I hasten to add, he appears
amid the splendours kindled by a new morning, by the Renaissance,
of a literature no longer mediaeval. There is, then, a Catholic strain
in Shakespeare, crossing and entangling the modern, with remarkable
consequences.

Elizabethan drama rose out of the mystery and morality plays of
which the origin must be sought in the Roman Mass. Their aim was
distinctly religious, while Scripture and the legends of the Saints fur
nished their matter. Shakespeare, taking a wider scope and setting
history on the stage, did, nevertheless, contrive in Macbeth an instance
of the * morality ' made perfect ; for, with a depth and directness
never surpassed, it reveals the law of conscience avenging itself on guilt
by an inward working. The witches and their shows are but a phantasm ;

32 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

the chief agent of doom is the sinner, sicklied or driven mad under
stress of self-accusation. Richard III, not so profound, discovers con
science in the persons and events that visibly at last bear down on the
culprit and smite him before battle. So far, the colouring is Christian
rather than simply Catholic. But what I may term the atmosphere of
Romeo and Juliet, of the Merchant of Venice, and the Comedies,
their warmth, ease, and grace of movement, so unmistakably Italian,
would vanish away if we took from them the religious background;
and this must be mediaeval, since it was neither Pagan nor Puritan.
Not many years later its glow was gone. If we reflect upon the secret
of living art, which is as little antiquarian as it is prophetic afar off, we
shall feel that the Catholic past in England, its continuation in Italy,
afforded just the perspective in time and space that Shakespeare needed
to hold the mirror up to nature. Even his Roman plays strike home
by virtue of this ever fresh quality. It comes out in Henry VIII,
if we grant that Shakespeare is the author of Queen Katharine's
speeches ; to my mind, A Winter's Tale, As You Like It, and Twelfth
Night, bear each a character derived from long Catholic usage now
passing into Renaissance forms. Henry V is a crusader in spirit ;
in Henry VI, spiteful as it is against Joan of Arc, we light upon the
prophecy, now fulfilled, that the Maid shall take the place of St. Denis
and inspire the armies of France. In King John, which reads
fiercely anti-Papal, the poet has omitted from his revised copy a scene
that dishonoured monasticism. He chants, too, with a pathos not un
touched by reminiscence of its fall, the * bare ruined choirs, where
late the sweet birds sang '. His Friar Lawrence lingers in our thoughts
of Verona 's lovers, as a purely human, even all too human, figure. But
the grandest of his Catholic creations lives in Measure for Measure.
The * votarist of Saint Clare ', Isabella, remains * a thing enskied and
sainted ' among the heavy shadows of vice, hypocrisy, or scepticism,
hanging over this difficult drama. Was her name a family tradition ?
Isabella Shakespeare, to whom the Stratford house claimed kinship,
had once been Prioress of the Benedictine cloister at Wroxall. Measure
for Measure, as a story of the * Virgin- Martyr ', is painfully impressive
by its insistence on law which cannot be broken. Its theme, from
the earliest ages familiar to Catholic ears, holds in it a transcendent
Puritanism.

I was once asked whether in Shakespeare's plays any reference
could be found in praise of the Madonna, our Lady St. Mary. There
is one, I think, in All 's Well that Ends Well, which Dante himself

WILLIAM BARRY 33

might have signed. The Countess, grieving over Bertram, her wayward
son, cries out,

What angel shall

Bless this unworthy husband ? He cannot thrive,
Unless her prayers, whom Heaven delights to hear,
* And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
Of greatest justice. — Act III, Sc. iv.

None but the Queen of Angels, as the Litany of Lore to invokes her,
can be thought of under such high language as able by prayer to * re
prieve ' a sinful soul. Surely it is not Helena, though a pilgrim to
St. James of Compostella, whom these words fit. Or, if so, they are
significant of a loftier faith where the full scope and grandeur of them
had been long acclaimed by Christendom. But other lines bearing the
mystic seal occur to me ; as, for instance, when we read in Macbeth
of * the Lord's anointed temple ', and how sacrilege has stolen thence

* the life of the building '. Catholic dogma will turn imagery like this
to its profit, to the hidden life of Christ in the tabernacle, and to the
sanctuaries which were violated in a day of rebuke and blasphemy.
It does not follow that Shakespeare had these outrages in mind, but
they darkened the history of a time only just gone by. Like Virgilian
currents of suggestion, the pensive sayings in which our dramatist
abounds bear us to many shores. At length we come with Shakespeare
into the open sea where all the winds are struggling ; we reach the
incoherence of Hamlet and Lear's pessimism, on which from Prosperous
fairy island the pale sunshine falls as in a dream.

The ' incoherence of Hamlet ' is the play itself. No Puritan half
way house can be seen anywhere ; but the Catholic faith in Purgatory,
penance, sacraments, judgement, is here at death-grips with a sceptical
doubt, the very heart of the prince who knows not how to flee from his
own question. It is Kant's Dream of a Ghost-seer, flung into drama
with unheard-of magnificence and equal melancholy ages before the
philosopher, but a forecast which was beginning to be realized even
while Shakespeare wrote. Faith has become a point of interrogation ;
nothing stands sure ; love and life take us in if we trust them ; and

* the rest is silence '. Acute critics have detected in what I will call the
pessimist dramas, Hamlet , Measure for Measure, Othello, Lear, and even
The Tempest, an influence which they charge to Montaigne, the French

* captain of the band '. It may be thus ; but ' der Geist, der stets ver-
neint ', the Everlasting No, walked about London streets, when he
was not haunting a Gascon squire at home. The fall of a universal

D

34 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

religion in many lands must have brought forth a doubt such as attends
on earthquake. Europe has been asking of its wisest ever since, * Canst
thou minister to a mind diseased ? ' Hamlet is * Everyman '. And King
Lear outdoes the meditative Dane, with his frenzied shriek, the last word
of anarchism :

As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods,
They kill us for their sport.

But I will make my bow to Prospero, sometime Duke of Milan, Catholic
and Italian, a beautiful old man, magician and father of Miranda, whom
I have known since I was a lad of six, and now I revere him as the master
of dreams which the crowd calls science, but I glimpses of God's angels
moving the wide universe. Hamlet will not always be incoherent.
The all-embracing Catholic Faith, out from whence our Shakespeare
came, looks upon him as its child of genius, with starry eyes and a heart
deep as man's deepest sorrow — which is not to have found his God.
He will find, for he has suffered. And, by the miracle that yet is to be
wrought, Hamlet's incoherence will turn in that day to the * marriage
of true minds ', when Faith weds with Life, and Love with Knowledge.

WILLIAM BARRY.
ST. PETER'S, LEAMINGTON.

ALICE MEYNELL 35

HEROINES

THOUGHTS about Shakespeare cannot pretend to be new. There
fore it is enough that the thoughts of us all should be practised rather
than spoken. It might, for example, be insolent for any man to say
that Shakespeare is a magnificent humourist for every age, yet to the
thinking of our age a very tedious wit ; but the man who would not
venture to say this aloud knows his Second Part of Henry IV, for its
humour, through and through, and has not read Love's Labour 's Lost,
for its wit, more than perhaps once. We all know Shakespeare as it
were privately, and thus a demand for words about him touches our
autobiography. What we think about Shakespeare is part of the public's
privacy as well as of our own. For we are all more than content to be
like Poins, to whom Prince Henry says, * Thou art a blessed fellow to
think as every man thinks ; never a man's thought keeps in the roadway
better than thine.' We are safe in the middle of the roadway in our
thoughts of Shakespeare. Very few men have tried to be original in
regard to Shakespeare, and their dreary experiment had best be for
gotten. It will probably not be imitated. Shakespeare's greater
readers have done no more than multiply one affection, one praise.
Ruskin and Emerson are only more articulate than the rest of their
respective nations. It is true that Ruskin seemed to make a kind of
discovery when he showed this fact in the dramas — that Shakespeare has
no heroes, but only heroines. The * discovery ' only seems ; Ruskin
states the matter, but every simple reader knows that Juliet was steadfast
and wise in stratagem and Romeo rash, Juliet single-hearted and Romeo
changeable ; that Imogen was true and that Posthumus Leonatus was
by her magnanimity awarded a kind of triumph when all he should have
hoped from her mercy was pardon ; that Hermione forgives her lord
his suspicion, and the theft of her child, and sixteen years of innocent
exile, without a word of forgiveness. Every reader knows the indomit
able will of Helena, who condescends to pursue and win a paltry boy,
and sweetly thinks herself rewarded by the possession of that poor

D 2

36 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

quarry ; the lovely simplicity of Desdemona, which lies as that of
a frightened child lies, to save herself from the violence of the noble
savage whom she loves ; the inarticulate and modest devotion of Virgilia
to a great man not too great for insane self-love ; Cordelia 's integrity
and self-possession among raving men ; Isabella's courage in face of
a coward brother ; Viola's valour and her single love in search of the
contre-coup of her Duke's affections ; Julia, true to a juggling lover ;
Queen Katharine betrayed by a hypocrite ; nay, the maid called Barbara
who was forsaken. Barbara, Desdemona, Juliet, Imogen, Virgilia,
Miranda, Viola, Hermione, Perdita, Julia, Helena, the other Helena,
Mariana, Rosalind, were all enamoured, all impassioned, and all
constant.

Why did Shakespeare make heroines and not heroes ? It was
assuredly because Shakespeare had a master passion for chastity, and
because this quality was most credible, in a world not governed by
theology, there where he attributed it, lodged it, and adored it — in this
candidatus exercitus of women.

There is one thing that additionally and adventitiously proves this
passion of Shakespeare's spirit, and that is his abstention from the
brilliancy and beauty wherewith he knows how to invest the wanton :
his vitality in Cressida, his incomparable splendour in Cleopatra. Yet
stay — is not Cressida alone in inconstancy ? and is it not a senseless
action to name Cressida in Cleopatra's glorious company ? Shakespeare,
able to make unparalleled Cressidas, made only one. Cleopatra is
clean, not by water but by her * integrity of fire '. She too is constant,
she too is * for the dark ', for eternity. She entrusts her passion to
another world. Let her stand close to the majestic side of Hermione,
even though Hermione might not permit Perdita to kiss her.

Does this recognition of Shakespeare's master passion look like
the claim to a discovery ? Heaven forbid, for it should not.

ALICE MEYNELL.

JOHN GALSWORTHY 37

THE

WHEN the human spirit, joyful or disconsolate, seeks perch for its
happy feet, or stay for flagging wings, it comes back again and again to
the great tree of Shakespeare's genius, whose evergreen no heat withers,
no cold blights, whose security no wind can loosen.

Rooted in the good brown soil, sunlight or the starshine on its
leaves, this great tree stands, a refuge and home for the spirits of men.

Why are the writings of Shakespeare such an everlasting solace and
inspiration ?

Because, in an incomprehensible world, full of the savage and the
stupid and the suffering, stocked with monstrous contrasts and the most
queer happenings, they do not fly to another world for compensation.
They are of Earth and not of Heaven. They blink nothing, dare every
thing, but even in tragedy never lose their sane unconscious rapture,
their prepossession with that entrancing occupation which we call ' life '.
Firm in reality, they embody the faith that sufficient unto this Earth
is the beauty and the meaning thereof. Theirs is, as it were, the proud
exuberance of Nature, and no eye turned on the hereafter ; and so they
fill us with gladness to be alive — though * the rain it raineth every day '.

Truth condescended for a moment when Shakespeare lived, with
drew her bandage and looked out ; and good and evil, beauty and
distortion, laughter and gloom for once were mirrored as they are,
under this sun and moon.

What a wide, free, careless spirit was this man Shakespeare's —
incarnate lesson to all narrow-headed mortals, with strait moralities, and
pedantic hearts ! And what a Song he sang ; clothing Beauty for all
time in actuality, in strangeness, and variety !

* He wanted arte,' Ben Jonson said ; * I would he had blotted a
thousand lines ! ' No doubt ! And yet, Ben Jonson : What is art ?

In every tree, even the greatest, dead wood and leaves shrivelled
from birth, abound ; but never was a tree where the rich sap ran
up more freely, never a tree whose height and circumference were

38 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

greater, whose leaves so glistened ; where astonished Spring fluttered
such green buds ; breezes made happier sound in Summer, whispering ;
the Autumn gales a deeper roaring ; nor, in Winter, reigned so rare
a silent beauty of snow.

In this Great Tree, I think there shall never be, in the time of man,

' Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.'

JOHN GALSWORTHY.

March, 1916.

F. R. BENSON 39

HOMAGE

1 OH, I see,' said a friend one day, at the end of a performance of
Hamlet, ' you Stratfordians are trying to Shakespearize England.'
* The world, too, if we can/ I replied.

But primarily we are only wandering actors, not philanthropists,
and as artists it is not ours to say this is right or this is wrong, only this
is life as it has been, as it is, and as it may be if you will have it thus ;
and as artists our desire is to take part in some of the most perfect dramas
that the world has ever seen or will see.

The size and shape of the theatres alter, the patterns of scenery and
conventions of art- expression change, but the eternal truths of existence
remain the same for all ages.

It is such truths that the poet embodies in his work ; truths that
deal with the strong things of life ; the sigh of the sea, the trumpet-note
of the thunder, the song of the bird, the sunlight and the dark, the fall
of a leaf from the tree, of a star from Heaven, the nightingale's lament,
the buzzing of a gnat — all blend in the magician's melody. Love pleads,
Life struggles, Death flings wide the gates of understanding, all created
things are busy — the song of Drama, doing and being.

If we can interpret the poet's meaning, we shall have told our audi
ence something of the touch of Nature that makes the whole world kin,
something of the realization of brotherhood through patriotism and the
intensification of national life. We shall have shown them something
of the pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war ; something of the
great peace enthroned in the human heart. We shall have given them
glimpses of the pendulum of human progress, swinging between free
development for the individual and the preservation of the racial type —
liberty under the law.

Hither come pilgrims from the ends of the earth to enrich them
selves and their fellows with those ideas for which Shakespeare stands
as the representative genius of our race, as the master-poet of the world.

' I have found the heart of England ', preached the sage from

4o A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

Bengal, * in Stratford-on-Avon, and it was as the heart of Shakespeare ;
faithful, yet tolerant, and gentle as it was strong/

With the rhythmic balance of Hellenic movement, and with all the
fervour of Hebraism, Shakespeare touches the secret springs of character,
reveals the wisdom and tenderness of Mother Earth, interprets the
language of bird and beast and flower, and manifests a Catholic Chris
tianity that acknowledges, in all charity, its debt to and dependence
upon a noble paganism.

* And I will lead you forth to play in the sunshine, close to the
waterfall, in a land of vines and sunshine, yea, and of men that sing far,
far away for ever.'

F. R. BENSON.
STRATFORD-ON-AVON.

H. B. IRVING 41

THE HOMAGE OF THE

To Shakespeare — the man of the theatre, the actor, the manager —
we of the theatre pay peculiar homage. To the men of letters, the
critics and commentators, we leave Shakespeare the poet, but with this
reservation, that to understand truly Shakespeare and his work it is
necessary to understand something of, and to have some sympathy with,
the theatre ; to recognize more fully than some writers are willing
to allow, the considerable part which Shakespeare's sense of the theatre
and experience of its art played in the development of his genius. The
art of the theatre is as individual a thing as the art of painting or sculpture,
and entirely separate and distinct from the art of the poet or novelist.
Its conditions are circumscribed and peculiar, the talent or genius for
it a thing apart. No play can live in the theatre by purely literary
merit ; poetic genius alone cannot make an actable play. The theatre
has, at times, incurred undeserved reprobation at the hands of those
who have thought that success as poets or story-tellers must imply
success in the theatre ; that, if they condescended to bring their work
on to the stage, they would have no difficulty in achieving the same
success which had attended them in their own particular art. They
have forgotten that the favours of the Dramatic Muse are as difficult
to secure, and must be as artfully won, as those of any other of the
Muses. The poor lady has sometimes suffered rudely at their hands
because she has preferred the persistent and laborious suitor to one
too confident and condescending in his approach. We of the theatre
know that Shakespeare as a playwright lives on the stage to-day apart
from his contemporary dramatists because he, alone of them all, was
not only the greatest poet but the one great dramatist among them. He
knew from inside and respected the medium through which he worked,
the temper of an audience, those secrets of dramatic effect which, to the
playwright, represent the mechanism of the well-told story or the well-
ordered poem. In short, Shakespeare knew his business as a man of
the theatre ; he was a master-craftsman in his day, a journeyman at

42 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

times, a genius not of the closet but of the stage ; and for that very
reason, and that alone, his plays hold their own in the theatre to-day, in
all languages and among all civilized peoples.

As actors we owe our homage to Shakespeare. Never more than
in this hour of our country's fate has he been an inspiration to the men
of his calling to acquit themselves well, * to make mouths at the in
visible event, exposing what is mortal and unsure to all that fortune,
death and danger dare '. And when some would seek to strip from this
actor's brows, because he was an actor, the laurels of his genius, we reply
that those who know something of the world of the theatre, its rivalry,
never more keen than in Shakespeare's day, who can picture the sur
roundings in which he worked and strove for success, are convinced
beyond any reasonable doubt that it would have been impossible, by
all the laws of sense and probability, for a dramatist in Shakespeare's
position to have foisted on to his colleagues and the public the work of
another brain. So sensational and vital a secret of authorship could
never have been kept in the small world of the theatre of that day, a
world of active competition and, we know in Shakespeare's case, bitter
jealousy. We of the theatre realize this, and to us such a consideration
is answer enough to the utmost efforts of perverse ingenuity. Strong
in our faith we pay our homage to this actor who has given to our
English theatre an heritage of which we, by our own unaided efforts,
have striven in the past — and are striving to-day — to be the worthy
repositories. Our greatest desire must be ever to follow faithfully the
example of those two loyal players who preserved for posterity the work
* of so worthy a friend and fellow as was our Shakespeare '.

H. B. IRVING.

GORDON BOTTOMLEY 43

ON TEACEFUL TENETT^ATION

IN time of war it is well to do homage to the first Englishman who
has subjugated the enemy. The characteristic thoroughness of the
Teutonic appreciation of Shakespeare is the best proof of the com
pleteness of his triumph.

But an infinitely harder task still awaits him : the subjugation of
England is yet unachieved, and it is only when that age-long conflict
is complete that we shall be able to celebrate any Shakespearian anni
versary appropriately, and render him the only homage which would
convince him, if he could return among us, that his countrymen believe
in his glory and value his achievement at its surpassing worth.

Not marble nor a gilded monument can accomplish what Shake
speare asks from us ; a service in Stratford Church may commemorate
the enclosing of his dust ; but only in that newer temple on the banks
of Avon can the fitting rite be held, and while it stands solitary in
the English shires it would be impossible to persuade his spirit, if we
knew how to invoke it, that the tribute of our commemoration is sincere
or anything more than a detachable ornament perfunctorily pinned
on to the fabric of our modern life for occasions of display.

Shakespeare's infinite variety would turn that of Cleopatra into
a monotony if they could be set in comparison ; yet age would appear
to have withered it, custom to have staled it, if his position in his own
country were the only standard of judgement. For several generations
it has seemed a noble thought, a piece of profound wisdom, to say that
he is too great for the theatre and that he can only yield his innermost
riches to the student in his closet. This may well be true when the
student in his closet is the actor busied in identifying himself with his
part ; but in its larger application this doctrine that Shakespeare can
best be worshipped in a temple built without hands has been held long
enough for us to ask what its results are, and to note that during
its currency the English theatre has descended from level to level of
debasement and cheapness.

44 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

It is certainly not too soon to urge that it might be well to try
worshipping him in temples built with hands again. Most of the great
poetry in the world was written for the sake of its sound in men's mouths ;
it should be apparent that this was especially so in the case of dramatic
poetry, yet a mischievous by-product of the invention of printing has
been the gradual production of the idea, now almost become an instinct,
that poetry is half a visual art, a pleasure of the eye to be gained by the
look of words on printed pages. Yet Milton, sounding his lines in dark
ness, thought as little of testing poetry by such a standard as Shakespeare
did when he supplied his theatre with manuscripts and left them there.
Messieurs Mouth and Company are as truly the real publishers for poetry
as they were in the days of Aeschylus, and England will never know
the wonder and delight and awe-stirring powers of Shakespeare until
his words are heard ten thousand times oftener than they are printed,
until his plays become again part of the daily routine of English theatres
rather than the hors-d'oeuvre of festivals, and the total seating accommo
dation of English theatres has become at least as great and as well
distributed as the total seating accommodation of English churches
and chapels.

If he had been born before the Reformation this first essential
would have been his from the beginning, for he would have worked for
the universal employer that gave complete and endless opportunities
to those great Italian dramatists Giotto and Giovanni Bellini and
Tintoretto. The church was then the theatre ; and sometimes it seems
as if the theatre will never be universal again, or realize its opportunities
adequately, until it returns to the church — or, indeed, until the church
realizes the dramaturgic nature of its ceremonies and teaching, and
becomes a theatre.

In the Middle Ages Shakespeare thus would have been sure of an
auditorium and an instructed audience in every parish, and he would
have been a national possession to Englishmen in a way that he never
has been yet. In the beginning of the nineteenth century such an oppor
tunity, though in a lesser degree, began to seem possible ; modest
theatres with stock companies sprang up in most of the comfortable
country towns in every shire, and energy and resource showed itself
everywhere in the number of great plays taken in hand, the sustained
interest of provincial audiences in serious drama, and the number of
competent actors which the system produced. But the commercial
development of England came and altered the balance of importance
of the provincial towns, and was followed by the railways, which

GORDON BOTTOMLEY 45

centralized the satisfaction of the community's needs at a few nodal
points ; and the whole organization disappeared.

The loss was very real. I have in mind the district with which I am
most familiar, a rocky, thinly populated stretch of country on the north
west coast of England. A hundred years ago its life and activities
centred about two market-towns at its borders : to-day those towns
persist little changed, perhaps rather larger and more prosperous under
modern conditions. Their amusements are administered in a couple
of picture-palaces and a modest concert-hall at which a musical comedy
touring company occasionally pauses for three nights : no one would
think it worth his while to build a theatre in either of them, no one in
his senses would think it possible to maintain a stock company in such a
theatre even if it were built ; yet in each of them there exists intact the
physical structure of what was a well-appointed theatre in the days of
Mrs. Siddons and Kean, and in one of those theatres — now a cheap
dancing academy — Kean once acted, the townsfolk still proudly record.
Kean once acted, and perhaps Wordsworth and De Quincey applauded ;
for there De Quincey edited the local paper, and thither Wordsworth
must come when he would take coach for the outer world. But neither
Irving nor Forbes- Robertson ever acted there, and it is safe to assume
that the bicentenary of Shakespeare's death had interest and reality
in many mountain villages and fell-side farms where its tercentenary
will pass unrevered or unknown.

In devising a National Memorial to keep Shakespeare's achieve
ment more vividly and constantly in the minds of his countrymen, it
is inevitable that a metropolitan theatre, where all great plays may find
performance regardless of dividends, and where the passage of time may
create a school of great acting and severe technique, should seem most
worth working for. The need for such a theatre is paramount and even
peremptory, if only to provide a standard and an authority from which
young poets may revolt, and upon which youth in general may spend
its passion for contradiction, in the profitable and well-trained fashion
which the Royal Academy of Arts has taught to six generations of
brilliant painters. In passing it may be urged that, when such a theatre
is consummated, it might well profit by the modern discoveries in
theatre construction and scenic management which have not yet reached
London, and indeed make every experiment which has no attraction
for syndicates or shareholders.

But when such a theatre is finished, the task of building Shake
speare's memorial in a nation's mind will only be begun. Perhaps it

46 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

will not be thought irrelevant that a rustic and provincial writer should
insist, even tediously, that decentralization and universal penetration
alone can complete the work. Such touring companies as those of
Mr. F. R. Benson do something, and something considerable : the
isolated enterprise of Mr. Barry Jackson and Mr. John Drinkwater has
raised in Birmingham the most modern theatre in England, and practises
in it, with a stock company, the performance of Shakespeare's plays
and those of his great companions, not on red-letter days alone, but as
part of a daily duty. If such a theatre as the Birmingham Repertory
Theatre were to be built in every prosperous town in England, Shake
speare would have come into his own before the arrival of his quater-
centenary ; but the inertia and indifference and dislike of innovation,
the demand for the minor gaieties and the baser sentimentalities now
prevalent, can only be overcome by a public effort. If the Memorial
Committee could enlarge its scheme to include provincial memorial
theatres, and companies to carry the seldom-seen plays to every part
of England, Shakespeare might soon be the popular dramatist in his
own country that he is in the rest of Europe.

I yield my homage earnestly and eagerly to the creative force that
worked instinctively and easily in Nature's way, and with results that
were Nature's own ; to the mastery of the deep springs of mirth, of
a superb sense of design working with human bodies as its integers,
and of life's supreme illumination by tragic splendour, which can still
make the world seem for a little while as vivid and august to lesser men
as it was continually to the miracle-worker himself ; but I cannot help
regretting that the corporate homage of Shakespeare's countrymen
should still be so imperfectly at Shakespeare's service.

GORDON BOTTOMLEY.

ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES 47

THE FAIRIES' HOMAGE

EACH bough hung quiet in its place

O'er Stratford's starry lea,
Yet round and round with giddy race
I saw the dead leaves flee,
In and out
In eerie rout —
A sight most strange to see.
And then I heard with quick heart-beat
Multitudinous fairy feet
Marching come
With elfin hum
And music faint and sweet.

Within a beech's hollow trunk,

Whose bursting buds had strowed
Those red, dead eddying leaves, I shrunk
And breathless there abode,
While those fine
Fays in line

Past me flowed and flowed.
'Twas Shakespeare's Fairy Host indeed.
Oberon and Titania lead ;
Then, good Troth !
Puck, Cobweb, Moth,
Pease-blossom, Mustard Seed.

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

Thereat, the climate, changing quite,

Yields Athens to the view,
Beneath whose bright Midsummer Night
Puck plays his pranks anew —
Works Bottom 's strange
And monstrous change ;
Befools four lovers true :
And in requital for her harms
To Oberon, Titania charms
From sleep to wake
Bewitched and take
An Ass-head to her arms !

That marvellous Dream on English Air

Dissolves, — the Host moves on,
I follow them from out my lair
O'er moonlit meadows wan;
Till round the porch
Of Stratford Church
Like bees they swarm anon ;
While * Hail, all Hail ! ' their homage-cry
Swells sweetly up into the sky,
* For, Master Will,
Thy magic skill
Has made us live for aye.'

ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES,

W. P. KER 49

SHAK£SPEAT(E, <AND THE
TASTOT(AL IDEA

ENGLAND and Spain in the great age seem to have had a common
understanding of many things ; they agreed in many points of art
without debate or discussion, or any overt communication, as far as one
can make out. No form of verse in French or Italian resembles English
verse in its rules and licences as does the Spanish measure called arte
mayor. Even the trick of the heroic couplet used as a tag at the end of
a blank- verse tirade is common to Lope de Vega and Shakespeare.

In several passages Cervantes might almost be translating Sir Philip
Sidney. The great dialogue on romance and the drama at the end of
the first part of Don Quixote (1605) is more like the Apologie for Poetrie
than many things that have been quoted by * parallelists ' as evidence of
plagiarism :

What greater absurdity can there be in drama (says the Curate) than to bring in
a child in swaddling clothes at the beginning of the first act and to find him in the second
a grown man and bearded ? ... As for the observance of place what can I say except that
I have seen a play where the first act began in Europe, the second in Asia, the third ended
in Africa, and if there had been a fourth it would have passed in America, and so the play
would have comprehended the four quarters of the world.

In the previous chapter the Canon of Toledo, speaking undoubtedly
the opinions of Cervantes, had described an ideal of romance with all
that devotion to classical ideals which is so strong in Sidney. The
author of Don Quixote, writing the first great modern novel and talking
about the art of romance, gives as his ideal of prose fiction a work in
which all the characters are noble classical types — * the wit of Ulysses,
the piety of Aeneas, the valour of Achilles, the sorrows of Hector ;
treating of which the author with the freedom of the prose form may
vary his style, and be epic, lyric, tragical, comical, or what you will ' —
ending with the weighty sentence : * For Epic can be written not only
in verse but in prose.'

It might be a description of Sidney's Arcadia ; it is a prophecy of
the last work of Cervantes, Persilesy Sigismunda, the serious and classical

50 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

romance in which he imitated Heliodorus. Heliodorus, thirty years
before, had been saluted by Sidney as an author of prose epic (which is
the same thing as heroical romance) :

For Xenophon who did imitate so excellently as to give us effigiein jiisti imperii, the
portraiture of a just empire, under the name of Cyrus (as Cicero saith of him) made therein
an absolute heroical poem. So did Heliodorus in his sugred invention of that picture of
love in Theagenes and Chariclea. And yet both these write in prose, &c.

Cervantes is somewhere between Sidney and Shakespeare in his
respect for the classical idols. Sidney and Cervantes are subdued, as
Shakespeare is not, in presence of the great authorities. The imposture
of the Renaissance, the superstitious worship of literary ideas, is shown
most clearly in reference to Heliodorus. There must be something in
prose corresponding to epic poetry. So Heliodorus is made into the
pattern of heroic romance, almost equal to Homer. He satisfies the
conditions of an abstract critical theory. Sidney and Cervantes —
occasionally — revel in terms of literary species. So does Shakespeare,
as we know ; this is the sort of intellect that Shakespeare names
Polonius.

Cervantes spent a great deal of time in the service of conventional
literary ideals ; but if he wrote the Galatea, he also wrote Don Quixote^
and he belonged to a country that was fond of fresh life in its stories.
Shakespeare kept out of the danger of Arcadia, and paid respect to no
literary ideas (such as heroic poem or heroic romance), however much
they might be preached about by the critics. But Shakespeare had few
prejudices ; that * great but irregular genius ' did not scruple to use the
tricks of classical tragedy (e.g. stichomythia), if it suited his purpose to
do so, and he was not going to renounce Arcadia because Polonius and
his friends were eloquent about the pastoral idea. Shakespeare and
Cervantes agree in certain places with regard to pastoral. They agree
in playing a double game about it. Pastoral is ridiculed in the penance
of Don Quixote ; yet the story of Don Quixote is full of the most
beautiful pastoral episodes — Marcela the best of them, it may be.
As You Like It is of course the play where Shakespeare criticises pastoral,
and shows the vanity of it, and how different from the golden world
are the briers of the forest of Arden and the biting of the northern wind.
We are not seriously taken in by this hypocrisy ; we know that in spite
of Touchstone we too are in Arcadia, in the rich landscape along with
youth and fair speech. Touchstone leaves Arcadia much as it was, and
the appeal to the dead shepherd proves how harmless is his negative
attitude.

W. P. KER 51

In the story of Preciosa, the Spanish gipsy, the first of the Novelas
exemplar es, Cervantes plays for an effect like that of Shakespeare's green
wood in As You Like It. The scene is not Arcadia, but Madrid and the
country about Toledo, Estremadura and Murcia. The gipsies of the
story are rogues and vagabonds. But the story is a pastoral romance
none the less ; the free life of the gipsies is praised in such terms as
turn the hardships into pleasant fancies. Preciosa has just enough of the
gipsy character to save the author from instant detection ; she is good
at begging, and she has the professional lisp.1 But her world is Arcadia,
the pure pastoral beauty where Florizel and Perdita also have their home.
And here, to end, it may be observed that Cervantes and Shakespeare
with Preciosa and Perdita have been glad to repeat the old device of the
classical comedy. They might perhaps have done without it, but for
the sake of Preciosa and the other long-lost child we spectators will
always applaud loudly when the box of baby-things — irrjplSiov yj/&>/>to>tarc»j/
— is produced in the last scene, to bring back the heroine to her own
again.

W. P. KER.

1 ' i Quierenme dar barato ? cenores, dijo Preciosa, que como gitana hablaba ceceoso,
y esto es artificio en ellos, que no naturaleza.' — CERVANTES, La Gitanilla de Madrid.

E 2

52 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

THE SONGS OF

AMONG the * co-supremes and stars of love * which form the con
stellated glory of our greatest poet there is one small splendour which we
are apt to overlook in our general survey. But, if we isolate it from
other considerations, it is surely no small thing that Shakespeare created
and introduced into our literature the Dramatic Song. If with statistical
finger we turn the pages of all his plays, we shall discover, not perhaps
without surprise, that these contain not fewer than fifty strains of lyrical
measure. Some of the fifty, to be sure, are mere star-dust, but others
include some of the very jewels of our tongue. They range in form
from the sophisticated quatorzains of The Two Gentlemen of Verona
(where, however, comes * Who is Silvia ? ') to the reckless snatches of
melody in Hamlet. But all have a character which is Shakespearean,
and this regardless of the question so often raised, and so incapable of
reply, as to whether some of the wilder ones are Shakespeare's com
position or no. Whoever originally may have written such scraps as

* They bore him bare-faced on the bier ' and * Come o'er the bourne,
Bessy, to me ', the spirit of Shakespeare now pervades and possesses
them.

Our poet was a prodigious innovator in this as in so many other
matters. Of course, the idea and practice of musical interludes in plays
was not quite novel. In Shakespeare's early youth that remarkable artist
in language, John Lyly, had presented songs in several of his plays, and
these were notable for what his contemporary, Henry Upchear, called

* their labouring beauty '. We may notice that Lyly's songs were not
printed till long after Shakespeare's death, but doubtless he had listened
to them. Peele and Greene had brilliant lyrical gifts, but they did not
exercise them in their dramas, nor did Lodge, whose novel of Rosalynde
(1590) contains the only two precedent songs which we could willingly
add to Shakespeare's juvenile repertory. But while I think it would be
rash to deny that the lyrics of Lodge and Lyly had their direct influence
on the style of Shakespeare, neither of those admirable precursors

EDMUND GOSSE

53

conceived the possibility of making the Song an integral part of the
development of the Drama. This was Shakespeare's invention, and
he applied it with a technical adroitness which had never been dreamed
of before and was never rivalled after.

This was not apprehended by the early critics of our divine poet, and
has never yet, perhaps, received all the attention it deserves. We may
find ourselves bewildered if we glance at what the eighteenth-century
commentators said, for instance, about the songs in Twelfth Night. They
called the adorable rhapsodies of the Clown * absurd ' and * unintelli
gible ' ; ' O Mistress mine ' was in their ears * meaningless ' ; * When
that I was ' appeared to them * degraded buffoonery '. They did not
perceive the close and indispensable connexion between the Clown's
song and the action of the piece, although the poet had been careful to
point out that it was a moral song ' dulcet in contagion ', and too good,
except for sarcasm, to be wasted on Sir Andrew and Sir Toby. The
critics neglected to note what the Duke says about ' Come away, come
away, Death ', and they prattled in their blindness as to whether this
must not really have been sung by Viola, all the while insensible to
the poignant dramatic value of it as warbled by the ironic Clown in the
presence of the blinded pair. But indeed the whole of Twelfth Night
is burdened with melody ; behind every garden-door a lute is tinkling,
and at each change of scene some unseen hand is overheard touching
a harp-string. The lovely, infatuated lyrics arrive, dramatically, to
relieve this musical tension at its height.

Rather different, and perhaps still more subtle, is the case of
A Winter's Tale, where the musical obsession is less prominent, and
where the songs are all delivered from the fantastic lips of Autolycus.
Here again the old critics were very wonderful. Dr. Burney puts
1 When daffodils begin to peer ' and ' Lawn as white as driven snow '
into one bag, and flings it upon the dust-heap, as * two nonsensical songs '
sung by * a pickpocket '. Dr. Warburton blushed to think that such
1 nonsense ' could be foisted on Shakespeare's text. Strange that those
learned men were unable to see, not merely that the rogue-songs are
intensely human and pointedly Shakespearean, but that they are an
integral part of the drama. They complete the revelation of the com
plex temperament of Autolycus, with his passion for flowers and
millinery, his hysterical balancing between laughter and tears, his
impish mendacity, his sudden sentimentality, like the Clown's

Not a friend, not a friend greet

My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown !

54 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

It is in these subtle lyrical amalgams of humour and tenderness that the
firm hand of the creator of character reveals itself.

But it is in The Tempest that Shakespeare 's supremacy as a writer
of songs is most brilliantly developed. Here are seven or eight lyrics,
and among them are some of the loveliest things that any man has
written. What was ever composed more liquid, more elastic, more
delicately fairy-like than Ariel's First Song ?

Come unto these yellow sands,

And then take hands:
Curtsied when you have, and kiss'd, —

The wild waves whist.

That is, not * kissed the wild waves ', as ingenious punctuators pretend,
but, parenthetically, * kissed one another, — the wild waves being silent
the while.' Even fairies do not kiss waves, than which no embrace
could be conceived less rewarding. Has any one remarked the echo of
Marlowe here, from Hero and Leander,

when all is whist and still,
Save that the sea playing on yellow sand
Sends forth a rattling murmur to the land?

But Marlowe, with all his gifts, could never have written the lyrical parts
of The Tempest. This song is in emotional sympathy with Ferdinand,
and in the truest sense dramatic, not a piece of pretty verse foisted in to
add to the entertainment.

Ariel's Second Song has been compared with Webster's * Call for
the robin redbreast ' in The White Devil, but, solemn as Webster's dirge
is, it tolls, it does not sing to us. Shakespeare's * ditty,' as Ferdinand
calls it, is like a breath of the west wind over an Aeolian harp. Where,
in any language, has ease of metre triumphed more adorably than in
Ariel's Fourth Song, — * Where the bee sucks ' ? Dowden saw in Ariel
the imaginative genius of English poetry, recently delivered from
Sycorax. If we glance at Dryden's recension of The Tempest we may
be inclined to think that the * wicked dam ' soon won back her mastery.
With all respect to Dry den, what are we to think of his discretion in
eking out Shakespeare's insufficiencies with such staves as this :

Upon the floods will sing and play
And celebrate a halcyon day ;
Great Nephew Aeolus make no noise,
Muzzle your roaring boys.

and so forth ? What had happened to the ear of England in seventy years ?

EDMUND GOSSE

55

As a matter of fact the perfection of dramatic song scarcely sur
vived Shakespeare himself. The early Jacobeans, Heywood, Ford, and
Dekker in particular, broke out occasionally in delicate ditties. But
most playwrights, like Massinger, were persistently pedestrian. The
only man who came at all close to Shakespeare as a lyrist was John
Fletcher, whose * Lay a garland on my hearse ' nobody could challenge
if it were found printed first in a Shakespeare quarto. The three great
songs in Vakntinian have almost more splendour than any of Shake
speare's, though never quite the intimate beauty, the singing spon
taneity of ' Under the greenwood tree ' or * Hark, hark, the lark '. It
has grown to be the habit of anthologists to assert Shakespeare's right
to ' Roses, their sharp spikes being gone '. The mere fact of its loveli
ness and perfection gives them no authority to do so ; and to my ear
the rather stately procession of syllables is reminiscent of Fletcher. We
shall never be certain, and who would not swear that * Hear, ye ladies
that are coy ' was by the same hand that wrote ' Sigh no more, ladies ',
if we were not sure of the contrary ? But the most effective test, even
in the case of Fletcher, is to see whether the trill of song is, or is not,
an inherent portion of the dramatic structure of the play. This is the
hall-mark of Shakespeare, and perhaps of him alone.

EDMUND GOSSE.

56 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

WILLIAM

DIED APRIL 23, 1616

AND then — the rest ?
What did he find
In the unfettered universe of mind,

To whom one star revealed

Complete and unconcealed
The maze of various man, in coloured music wrought —

God's rich creative thought
Of ardour, grief, and laughter all compact —
And more, beyond the patch of fenced fact,
Where at the edge of dream the air 's alive with wings,
Showed him the hidden world of delicate fair things ?

With what new zest,

His inward vision healed
Of rheumy Time, and from the clipping zone

Of Space set free,

He roamed those meadows of Eternity
Where the storm blows that comes from the unknown
To shake the crazy windows of the soul

With gusts of strange desire !

Thrust by that favouring gale
Did he set out, as Prospero, to sail
The lonely splendours of the Nameless Sea ?

Where did he make the land ?
Upon what coasts, what sudden magic isles ?

EVELYN UNDERBILL 57

And what quick spirits met he on the strand ?

What new mysterious loves swifter than fire

Streaming from out the love that ever smiles,

What musical sweet shapes, what things grotesque and dear

We know not here,
What starry songs of what exultant quire

Now fill the span
Of his wide-open thought, who grasped the heart of man ?

Saints have confest

That by deep gazing they achieve to know
The hiddenness of God, His rich delight ;

And so
There 's a keen love some poets have possest,

Sharper than sight

To prick the dark that wraps our spirits round
And, beyond Time, see men in its own light.

Those look upon His face,

These in a glass have found
The moving pageant of His eager will :
All the nobility and naughtiness,

Simplicity and skill

Of living souls, that do our dusk redeem
With flaming deed and strangely-smouldering dream.
Great contemplator of humanity !
'Twas thus you saw, and showed to us again
The one divine immortal comedy :
Horror and tears, laughter and loveliness,

All rapture and all pain
Held in one unity's immense embrace,

Set in one narrow place.
Now, in the unwalled playhouse of the True,
You know the life from which that drama drew.

EVELYN UNDERBILL.

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

SHAK£SPEA1{E *AND GT{EEK PHILOSOPHY

SHAKESPEARE has given us the finest interpretation in any language
of one of the central doctrines of Greek philosophy. That does not
mean, of course, that he was a student of the subject in the ordinary
sense. Though I am convinced that his classical attainments were far
more considerable than is sometimes supposed, I do not suggest that
he had read Plato's Timaeus. What I claim for him is something more
than that, namely, that he was able to disentangle the essential meaning
of the Pythagorean doctrines preserved in that dialogue, though these
were only known to him through a very distorted tradition. Milton
knew them well in their original form ; but his Platonism, nobly as it
is expressed, yet lacks a touch which is present in Lorenzo's brief dis
course on Music in Act V of the Merchant of Venice. It may be worth
while to add that such sympathetic interpretation of Greek thought
was quite * out of the welkin ' of Francis Bacon.

The commentators fail to throw much light on Lorenzo's theory.
They do not appear to have heard of Plato's Timaeus, though that
dialogue has had more influence on European literature than almost
any work that could be named, and though it is the ultimate source of
so much that is best in English literature in particular. Above all, they
do not possess the clue to the whole discourse, namely, the Pythagorean
doctrine of Music as the * purgation ' (K.a.6apais) of the soul. Let us
see whether, with that clue in our hands, we can follow Lorenzo's
argument more closely, and state his theory rather more fully than the
exigencies of dramatic art have allowed him to state it himself.

Let us start from the words * Such harmony is in immortal souls ',
and note at once that the term * harmony ' in this connexion does not
bear its modern meaning. Greek music had no harmony in our sense,
and apuovia meant * scale ' or * octave '. Now the sun, the moon, and
the five planets, along with the heaven of the fixed stars, were believed
to form a harmony in this sense, an octave scale, the intervals of which
were determined by the distances between the planetary orbits. That

JOHN BURNET 59

octave has its counterpart in the immortal soul of each one of us ; for
the circular motions of the soul of man only reproduce on a smaller
scale the mightier revolutions in the soul of the world, which are just
the paths of the heavenly orbs. Were it not for the earthly and perish
able nature of the body, our souls would therefore sound in perfect
unison with the grander music of the Cosmos. As it is, there is a cor
poreal barrier between the Soul of Man and the Soul of the World.
The function of Music is to overcome this barrier, and it can do so
because it is able to reach the soul, while its scales reproduce the intervals
of the celestial diapason. It is thus an intermediary between the uni
verse and ourselves. So, when we hear music, our nature is changed
for the time, the motions of our * spirits ' are brought into accord .with
those of the heavenly bodies, and we are at one with what is highest.
We see rudimentary traces of this even in some of the animals. On the
other hand, a human soul from which music can elicit no response is
altogether out of tune with the Soul of the World. It is not only the
body in this case that bars the way ; the soul itself rings untrue. All
that is Pythagorean doctrine, and in the light of it Lorenzo's speech
becomes quite clear.

It is curious that Lorenzo says nothing about the * crystal spheres '.
As a matter of fact, these are a later addition to the doctrine, and are
not to be found in the Timaeus. It almost looks as if Shakespeare saw
them to be irrelevant, as in fact they are. He does, however, introduce
one modification of the imagery, which gives us a valuable hint as to
the channels through which it reached him. In the Myth of Er in
Plato's Republic we read that there is a Siren on each of the planetary
rings who sings in monotone her proper note in the octave. Lorenzo
substitutes angels and cherubim, and that goes back in the long run to
* Dionysius the Areopagite '. We may fairly infer that the theory of
the celestial * harmony ' reached Shakespeare, as it reached Dante, in
a mediaeval dress, and it is not hard to see how that may have come about.

Plato's Timaeus was never wholly lost to western Europe, as his
other dialogues were ; for the greater part of it was accessible in the
Latin version of Chalcidius (fourth century A. D.), with an elaborate
commentary based mainly on Posidonius. In that commentary the
doctrine is to be found, Sirens and all. It is, says Chalcidius, the con
sortium corporis which causes the ratio harmonica in the human soul to
fade away into oblivion, so that the souls of the many are * unmodu
lated '. Music is the cure (medeld) for this ; for it alone can recall the
motions of our soul when they deviate from their orbits (exorbitantes)

60 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

to the original concord (ad veterem symphoniam). In general, we may
say that Posidonius, who was specially interested in early Pythagorean-
ism, made use of his knowledge to illuminate the obscurities of the
Timaeus y and that Chalcidius handed on the torch to the Middle Ages.

The School of Chartres was the legitimate successor of Plato's
Academy, and its teaching was based on the work of Chalcidius. In
the twelfth century Bernard Silvester of Tours sought to rival the
Timaeus itself in his De mundi universitate, and it was he that made the
terms Macrocosm and Microcosm familiar. They are not to be found
in Greek, though Philo and others speak of man as a tuKpo? or Ppaxv?
/coV/ioy, the brevis mundus of Chalcidius. It is here too that personified
Nature makes her appearance, practically for the first time. Then comes
the De planctu naturae of Alan of Lille, to whom Chaucer refers his
readers for a description of the goddess Nature, and from whom he
borrows her designation as ' God's vicar general '. The Platonism of
Chartres was popularized by Jean de Meung's continuation of the
Roman de la Rose, and by the fifteenth century the leading doctrines
of the Timaeus were common property, especially in England. There
was an eager desire to know more of Plato, and Humphrey, Duke of
Gloucester, procured a translation of the Phaedo and the Meno from
Sicily. Inevitably this interest in Platonism was reflected in the Morali
ties of the next age, which betray their affiliation to the school of Chartres
by the leading part they often assign to Nature, a personification practi
cally unknown in continental literature till a later date, but of the highest
importance for English poetry and English science. Obvious examples
are the Interlude oj the Four Elements (though that is Aristotelian, not
Platonic), and The Marriage of Wit and Science, the very title of which
is pure Plato. It is a probable conjecture that Shakespeare's Platonism
first came to him from sources of this kind, which would account for
the angels and the cherubim, though we must not exclude other possi
bilities. It is certain, at any rate, that there was a vast mass of floating
traditional lore, of Pythagorean and Platonic origin, in the England of
Shakespeare's youth, and that he was just the man to be influenced
by it.

The ' muddy vesture of decay ' deserves a few words to itself.
The Pythagoreans generally spoke of the body as the tomb or prison
of the soul, but there was also an old Orphic doctrine that the body
was the soul's garment (\LTWV). At a later date this was revived in
Gnostic circles and the ' vesture ' was identified with the coats of skins

JOHN BURNET 61

t) made by God for Adam and Eve. The image
was adopted by Porphyry and his successors, and so passed into
mediaeval Platonism. The epithets * muddy ' (xoMs) and * of decay '
(<j)0apTo?) reveal the origin of the phrase, however it may have reached
Shakespeare. He can hardly have got it from St. Paul ; for * muddy '
is a more accurate rendering of x°iK°s than the terrenus of the Vulgate
or the * earthy ' of the English version.

The result of all this is that Shakespeare has picked out the pure
gold from the dross with an unerring instinct. The Aristotelian and
Scholastic accretions which disfigured the doctrine have all dropped
away, and the thought of Pythagoras stands revealed in its original
simplicity. We need not wonder at that. The sympathetic insight
into another soul, which is the gift of the interpreter, is at bottom
the same thing as dramatic genius. It is, after all, no great marvel
that the creator of Hamlet and Falstaff could also recreate Pythagoras
from the stray hints tradition had preserved.

JOHN BURNET.

ST. ANDREWS.

62 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

IN T^EMEMBT^ANCE OF
OUR WOTITHY MASTER SHAKESPEAT(E

A Quatorzain in the commendation oj Master William Shakespeare and

his Country y wherein the Author hath imitated, albeit imperfectly,

the manner of our Elizabethan poets.

OUR own Thou art, and England's self in Thee,

Drest in the rare perfections of thy book,

As some fair queen may in her mirror look

To learn where lies her beauty's mystery.

Thyself art England, all the world may see,

Her tongue, her pen ; so has thy Muse outgone

The quire of Castaly and Helicon

And quite o'erpassed their starry Italy.

Thus hast thou conquered Time who conquers men,

And writ alone her virtue's argument ;

Here is our England's wealth : what wonder then

That this thy page breeds more astonishment

Than that famed garden set i' the ocean seas

Or fabled fruit of the Hesperides.

W. MACNEILE DIXON 63

The chief ground and matter of this sonnet resteth upon a tale set forth
by the philosopher and mythologian Plato, in the tenth book

of his nOAITEIA.

As on the spindle of Necessity

Roll the bright orbs of being, ring on ring,

To the unwearied song the Sirens sing,

Nor age nor falter on the eternal way ;

So in thy Heavens, child of destiny,

On music's wide imperishable wing,

All years above or season's reckoning,

Star follows star in crystalline array.

There too the Fates enthron'd may each one see,

Calm memorable goddesses, and mark

How the lot falls to that man or to this,

And ponder in his heart each firm decree,

Ere on the ultimate ocean he embark

Himself to hear the doom of Lachesis.

W. MACNEILE DIXON.

THE UNIVERSITY,

GLASGOW.

64 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

SHA%ESPEA1(E <AND MUSIC

THERE is no English poet to whom music has been a more intimate
and vital source of inspiration than it was to Shakespeare. His lyrics
are the purest melodies in our language : his plays are instinct with the
impulse and delight of song : it is music that soothes the love sickness
of Orsino, that fills the starry night when Lorenzo and Jessica exchange
their vows, that sets the fairies circling round the couch of Titania, that
pours new enchantment over the magic of Prospero's isle. The whole
air is filled with the concourse of sweet sounds : under Sylvia 's window,
in Katherine's chamber, before the porch of Mariana's moated grange :
Cleopatra cannot go a-fishing without her minstrels, the jolly hunters
in Arden Forest celebrate their quarry with a rousing chorus. Even in
the darkest hours of tragedy music comes as a relief and a consolation :
Desdemona sings of her forebodings ; Ophelia of her broken heart ;
Edgar, on the storm-swept heath, breaks into half-forgotten fragments
of wild melody. And behind all these grave matters of character and
incident, of suspended fortunes and final issue, stretches the broad
country-side which Shakespeare loved ; the dancers on the village-
green keeping time to the pipe and tabor ; the reapers * three-man
song-men all and very good ones, but they are most of them means and
basses ' ; Autolycus with his pack of ballads singing along the footpath
way ; roisterers joining in a catch at the ale-house door : a coppice of
wood-notes, artless and untaught, carolling for very joy and fullness
of life.

It is therefore notable that the age of Shakespeare was also the
greatest and most fertile in the history of our national music. The
first English madrigal was printed in 1588 : for a generation before
that we had held honourable rivalry with the Flemish and Italian
church composers ; during the generation which followed we may
claim to have won our way to pre-eminence. Tallis, who died in 1585,
summed up in his own work all the strength and skill, all the vigour and
learning which the music of his time could attain : William Byrd, his

W. H. HADOW 65

younger colleague — perhaps his pupil — added a new sweetness of
melody, a new grace of style, and, what is of far greater moment, a sense
of the depth and mystery of music which is comparable to that of
Shakespeare himself. And close upon Byrd follows a noble procession
of madrigal composers : Weelkes and Wilbye, Bennet and Bateson,
Morley who calls Byrd * my loving master ', and Gibbons who was
honoured by his collaboration : to the Triumphs of Oriana twenty-five
Englishmen contributed, and every work is a masterpiece. Nor were
the performers less conspicuous. Dowland was the most famous
lutenist in Europe : Bull and Philips were among the most famous
organ-players : the pieces in the Fitzwilliam Virginal Book testify to
an astonishing degree of skill and proficiency. And all this garden of
delights grew from a soil ready prepared for it. Music, in Elizabeth's
reign, was taken for granted as a part of every one's education. ' Supper
being ended/ says Philomathes,1 * and Musicke bookes (according to
the custome) being brought to the table : the mistresse of the house
presented me with a part earnestly requesting me to sing. But when
after many excuses, I protested unfainedly that I could not, every one
began to wonder. Yea, some whispered to others demanding how I was
brought up.' Queen Elizabeth was a skilful performer on the virginals,
and readily forgave the indiscreet ambassador who had overheard her,
on his assurance that she played better than Mary Queen of Scots.
Many of the instrumental pieces which still survive are severally dedi
cated to lords and ladies of the court : some are marked with special
instructions for the patrons who were to play them : some are by
amateur composers, Robert Hales, for instance, and * Mr. Daniells ',
and Captain Tobias Hume whose ' profession hath been that of arms *
and whose music * hath been always generous because never merce-
narie '. It is true that the society of Shakespeare's time anticipated
our own in the hospitable welcome which it offered to the artists of
foreign countries. * Some there be', says Campion in 1613, 'who
admit only French and Italian aires, as if every country had not its
proper aire which the people thereof naturally usurp in their music.'
But, apart from passing fashion, such generosity was the intercourse
of nations which could meet on terms of comradeship, and was repaid,
at least in part, by the respect that was shown to our musicians abroad.
The wealthier houses in Shakespeare's time had at disposal a large
variety of musical instruments. The organ was rarely to be found
among them, though Chappington and Dalham were famous organ-

1 Morley, A plaine and easie introduction to Practical! Mnsicke, p. i.

F

66 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

builders, but the regal, a small portative organ, was not uncommon,
and the virginal * stood in high favour among the ladies of the household.
It is the more noteworthy that Shakespeare never mentions either of
these by name (he uses ' virginalling ' as a metaphor in The Winter's
Tale), and that his only description of a virginal player has been censured
by careful critics for a technical mistake. The recorders 2, which
provide Hamlet with a text, were ripple-flutes of special construction,
bored with not less than eight holes and usually kept in a quartet of
differing compass that they might harmonize together into a consort.
The same practice obtained with the viols — treble, alto, tenor, and
bass — the last of these being the viol da gamba which Sir Andrew
Aguecheek * played better than any man in Illyria '. The * leero '
viol — the Italian lira da braccio — is occasionally mentioned as an under
study : the * scoulding violins ', as Mace calls them, though sometimes
used in ensembles, were still harsh and untuneful ; fitter for the country
fair than for the ears of civilized society. But by far the most popular
of all instruments was the lute. As a manly accomplishment it ranked
but little below the sword — indeed Richard Crookback morosely
complains that grim-visaged War had given it place : it formed an
essential part of every song accompaniment from Dowland to Campion :
in the very barbers' shops, where now we have newspapers and comic
prints, a lute hung ready to solace the waiting customer. Three or four
kinds of guitar are also mentioned in the compositions of the time —
the cittern, flat-backed and wire-stringed, to the carved head of which
Holofernes the schoolmaster is disrespectfully compared ; the pandora
which, in spite of its outlandish name, seems to have been invented
by a Londoner ; the orphereon, dainty in shape but rather awkward to
handle ; yet though all these had their votaries — the Imperial Votaress
among them — they never challenged the pre-eminence of the lute
proper. The accusation that it was expensive in strings is indignantly
denied by its champion Thomas Mace, and if true marks its only fault :
it was graceful in shape and sweet in tone, effective but not exacting,
and the music for it was written in a tablature which is one of the
easiest forms of notation ever invented. A few other instruments might
be added — the transverse flute, the harp, the various kinds of flageolet —
but even without these there is enough to show that the virtuoso of the
time had an abundance of choice.

1 The name virginal was then commonly applied to all keyed instruments in which the
string was plucked with a quill.

2 See Christopher Welch's Six Lectures on the Recorder.

W. H. HADOW 67

Combinations of instruments, so ordered as to produce a harmo
nious scheme of colour, were as yet somewhat crude and primitive.
The four viols often doubled and sometimes replaced the singers in
a madrigal : the bass viol supported the lute in the accompaniments
of ' aires ' : more elaborate were the consort lessons of Morley and
Rosseter, written for treble and bass viols, pandora, cittern, and recorder,
and larger bands of what was commonly called * broken music ' were
employed for masques and at wedding-feasts.1 The louder instruments
— hautbois, shawms, trumpets, cornets, sackbuts, and drums — were
usually reserved for occasions of special state and pageantry, and their
choice seems to have aimed more at volume than at balance of sound.2
Indeed one of the oddities of nomenclature is the current adoption of
the word * noise ', without any malicious intent, for a band of musicians
and more distinctively of string-players. When the drawer at the
Boar's Head bids his fellow * see if thou cannot find out Sneak's noise '
he is merely making use of an accepted technical term. It is the more
remarkable because the ' chamber ' music of the time, and especially
that played upon strings, would seem to our ears soft in tone, and —
except for a few dance measures — grave in character. A valuable piece
of evidence on the whole subject may be found in the third Century of
Bacon's Sylva Sylvarum :

All concords and discords of music are (no doubt) sympathies and antipathies ot
sounds. And so likewise in that music which we call broken music, or consort music,
some consorts of instruments are sweeter than others (a thing- not sufficiently yet observed) as
the Irish harp and base viol agree well ; the recorder and stringed music agree well ; organs
and the voice agree well, &c. : but the virginals and the lute, or the Welsh harp and Irish
harp, or the voice and pipes alone, agree not so well. But for the melioration of music
there is yet much left (in this point of exquisite consorts) to try and inquire.

For some reason, not yet sufficiently explained, the stream of
ecclesiastical music which had been since the days of Henry VII one of
the chief glories of English art began at the close of the century to run
for a while with thinner and shallower volume. Byrd published
nothing between 1591 and 1607 : Morley wrote some pieces for the
church service, but his heart was in ballet and madrigal : Bering,
Tomkins, Gibbons, belong to the later period. It would, perhaps, be
indiscreet to attribute to this the fact that Shakespeare makes hardly

1 See Galpin's Old English Instrtiments of Music, ch. xv, 4 The Consort.'

2 The band which played at Queen Elizabeth's funeral comprised seven each ot
violins, recorders, and flutes, six hautbois and sackbuts, six ' lutes and others ', four
* drums and fifes ', and no less than twenty -two trumpets. See The King's Music, by
H. C. de Lafontaine, p. 45.

F 2

68 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

any mention of church music, except of the unorthodox sort illustrated
by the dirge in Much Ado About Nothing. Falstaff incredibly maintains
that he lost his voice * singing of anthems ', but even he admits that he
has * forgotten what the inside of a church is made of ', and of his
fellow choristers there are few or none. At the same time Shakespeare
good-humouredly banters an abuse from which our church music has
often suffered — the forcible adaptation to sacred words of incongruous
secular melodies. The * puritan ' in The Winter's Tale, who * sang
psalms to hornpipes *, is hardly a caricature : Greensleeves, in spite of
Mistress Page's protest, was actually * moralized to the Scriptures '
and used as a hymn. Among the secular vocal forms the madrigal held
pride of place : next came the aires and ballets, of lighter character
and, as a rule, of more recurrent rhythm. The aires add an interesting
chapter to the history of the solo song. Dowland writes them in four
parts, * so made that all the parts together or either of them severally
may be sung to the lute orpherion or viol de gambo '. Campion, a few
years later, writes in the first instance for the solo voice, but adds that
* upon occasion they have been filled in with more parts which whoso
pleases may use, who likes not may leave '. It is possible that the
difference marks a definite advance in the skill and proficiency of the
singer. Most of Shakespeare's soloists are boys or women, and of the
two most notable exceptions one is, for a vocalist, unusually profuse in
apologies.1

There were four chief types of instrumental music : descriptive
pieces, like Mundy's * Weather ' and the * Stag hunt ' of Tobias Hume ;
airs with variations ; fantasies or fancies, not the artless ditties of
Justice Shallow but elaborate contrapuntal pieces which developed
during this period into the organized structure of the fugue ; and, most
widely beloved of all, the dance-measures. The first English collection
of dances appears to be that which Anthony Holborne published in
1599, but before this there were many examples in common use : the
pavan, called par excellence ' the measure ', and described by Beatrice
as * full of state and ancientry ' ; the galliard or sink-a-pace, which
followed it as the humorous servant follows the hero in a Spanish
comedy ; the almain, with its strong rhythm and its texture of crotchets ;
the jig, as * hot and hasty ' as courtship, * and full as fantastical '. The
choice is narrower than that of contemporary French music, narrower
even than that of our own seventeenth century, but it bears full witness
to the joy and delight of dancing, and it spreads through the plays from

1 Much Ado About Nothing, II. in.

W. H. HADOW 69

the pageantry of Capulet or Leonato to the Hay of honest Dull, and the
bergomask of the Athenian clowns.

When music entered so deeply into the life of the people it is
natural that it should occupy a considerable place in dramatic repre
sentation.1 The performance usually began with a flourish of trumpets,
their cue given, as Dekker said, by * the quaking prologue ' ; trumpets
and drums were used for the entry of great personages, or for the
martial music of battles ; the banquet in Timon has its consort of
hautbois, As You Like It ends with a dance, Twelfth Night with a song.
The dumb-shows were accompanied by instruments often specially
chosen for dramatic effect : dance-music whiled away the time between
the acts of Comedy, and not improbably between the acts of Tragedy
as well. Private theatres, influenced no doubt by Italian usage, em
ployed highly skilled bands of performers and installed them in a music-
room at the side of the stage : public theatres, where the accommodation
was narrower and the musicians of humbler rank, sent them to the
tiring-room or the balcony, or some other place of makeshift, where the
audience criticized them unmercifully and often interrupted them to
call for a favourite tune. It was all very simple and unsophisticated,
but it had far more vitality than the self-conscious and Alexandrine
art of a later day.

For the central characteristic of all our Elizabethan music is its
spontaneity. Not that it was unlearned — the madrigal composers
were men of immense learning — but from highest to lowest it was
infused with the large elemental feelings of our common humanity.
The same spirit of adventure which animated explorers and seamen
ran through every pulse of the national life : the vigour and manhood
which could do everything because it dared everything, conquered the
provinces of art as it overran the Indies or circumnavigated the globe.
There is no truth in the saying that the arts have prospered best amid
a decadent people : they are the natural expression of chivalry and
fearlessness and high enterprise. Shakespeare consummated the
greatest age in our history : it is no coincidence that he found among
his contemporaries a music which we have never surpassed.

1 See, on this subject, Mr. Cowling's excellent monograph Music on the Shakespearean
Stage.

W. H. HADOW.

70 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

S MUSIC-LESSON

VERY few of Shakespeare's plays deal with music as minutely as is
done in The Taming of the Shrew. The lover's disguise as a music-
master, that situation which Beaumarchais and Rossini turned to such
good account in later years, amply justifies a freer use of technical terms
than Shakespeare allows himself elsewhere. And it is curious that even
apart from the character of Hortensio, another musical allusion is made,
in the scene where Petruchio wrings Grumio by the ears, and says
' I'll try how you can sol-fa and sing it ! ' It would almost seem as
though, in view of the very technical passage that was to come in
Act in, Shakespeare felt at liberty to make a joke that only the more
musical people in the audience would understand. Besides the use of
the syllables sol-fa in musical notation, these two were used, of course
by derivation from the other meaning, to denote the stick or roll of
paper for beating time. It is at least possible that the order to Grumio
to knock at Hortensio 's door implies that the servant had a stick in
his hand.

In the scene where Hortensio has the lute broken over his head
appears the pun on the word * fret ' which was afterwards repeated
in Hamlet. There the joke is a little forced, for a recorder, being a
wind instrument, has no frets. Frets are an essential feature of instru
ments of the lute family ; they are the fixed or movable bars across the
fingerboard which make it easier for the player to keep in tune, and the
absence of which gives the violin and its kindred the great power of slight
gradations in pitch, as well as making them the hardest of all to play.
The epithet * twangling Jack ', later in Hortensio 's tale of Katharine's
behaviour, is of course the common allusion to the little pieces of wood
that hold the quill or leather plectra in the early keyboard instruments,
such as the virginal and harpsichord. To call a lutenist a * fiddler '
or to allude to the virginal would no doubt be as much of an insult in

J. A. FULLER-MAITLAND 71

Shakespeare's time as it was, down to the end of last century,
to call any musical person a ' fiddler ' ; there must be many living
who remember the term being applied to musical people generally
as a sneer.

Coming now to the longest of the musical passages in the play, the
lesson in the gamut in which Hortensio declares himself as Bianca's
lover, it is clear that the music-lesson is a parallel, more or less close, to
the Latin lesson given by Lucentio, and as that is pure nonsense — that
is to say, as the Latin words have no sort of connexion with the con
versation of the lovers — it is possible to assume that the musical
terms are equally removed from the phrases used by Hortensio. But
I think that the music-lesson has a little more method than the Latin
one, or at least there are in it more suggestions taken from the musical
terms used. As I fear that very few musicians in the present day could
honestly say with Bianca, that they are * past the gamut long ago '
(at least, in the sense of having learnt it in their youth), perhaps a
short explanation of its nature may not be out of place, since it
served a very real purpose in the music of its time, and without
some knowledge of what that purpose was, we shall be, like many
of the older editors of the plays, at a loss to explain some of Horten
sio 's love-making.

As soon as the art of music was freed from the dominion of the old
modes (usually called * ecclesiastical ' for no reason except that the
plain-song of the Church preserved them in written music), and found
it possible to pass from one key to another nearly related to it, they saw
that there was a key on each side, as it were, of the central or * natural '
key of C, to which modulation could readily be effected. That of G,
the scale of which was called the hexachordum durum , had all the notes
of its hexachord inside the scale of C, since the differential note, F, on
which the modulation chiefly depended, lay outside the hexachordum
durum. On the other side of the hexachordum naturale (the first six
notes of the scale of C), there lay the hexachordum molle (the scale of F),
so-called because its characteristic fourth note must be flattened in order
to conform to the pattern of the others, in which the first semitone must
always occur between the third note and the fourth. The old syllables,
derived from the initial syllables of a hymn * Ut queant laxis ', to
St. John Baptist, were useful as showing the place of the semitones,
whatever the pitch. So the names ut, re, mi, fa, sol, and la always stood
for the first notes of the major scale, with a semitone always between
mi and fa. In order that the starting-points of these three scales should

72 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

be remembered, a table was constructed in which the scales were given
with their * sol-fa ' equivalents :

THE GAMUT

F

£

In

la

sol

C
B

sol

Ufn

fa

A 0

la mi
sol re

flim —
re

F *'
E

la

fa ut

ui —

D

la sol

re

ut

_ — — — —

B II?

t>fa tjmi

G

sol re ut
fa ut

.b la mi
D — sol re -
C fa ut
B mi-
A re

At the same time the table showed the great stave of eleven lines, on
which, using also the spaces between them, all the notes of the seven
hexachords were included, there being one line above the gamut, called
now the treble F. Here we have the usual two staves of pianoforte
music, with the line for middle C shown as dotted. On this line was
placed the C clef, that stumbling-block to the readers of to-day. The
names by which the individual notes were known were made up by
reading across the table. Thus the highest note was called * E la ', the
next ' D la sol ', and so on. As the gamut was always taught from the
bottom, the first note, from which the table took its name, was called
* Gamma ut ' or * Gamut ', because the Greek letter was used for the
note that had been added below the limits of the old tetrachords (called
Tr/joo-Aa/ijQai/d/iei/oy). As the second hexachord does not start until the
note C, the two notes between it and the lowest have only one name
each, * A re ' and * B mi '. The beginning of the second hexachord is
indicated by the name ' C fa ut ', and the remaining two notes of the

J. A. FULLER-MAITLAND 73

first hexachord are ' D sol re ' and ' E la mi '. These names were used,
down to the times of the old English Church composers, for the keys
in which their anthems and services were composed. What we should
now call the key of E minor, for example, was known as that of * E la mi ',
and afterwards as * the key of E with the lesser third '.

As I have already said, the first necessary alteration of note took
place at the upper B, since it served not only as the third, or mi of the
major scale, but as the fourth, or fa of the scale beginning on F. In
this capacity it had to be flattened, to make it a semitone above the mi,
the note A. The two forms of the note B were expressed by two forms
of the written letter, one by the round b of the cursive alphabet, the
other by the gothic letter b. These two are of course the origin of the
modern signs for the flat (i>) and sharp (#) 1 respectively.

Bearing in mind as much as may be of this dull explanation, let
us consider the written gamut which Bianca reads aloud. The first line,

Gamut I am, the ground of all accord,

describes the lowest note of the scale, and sets forth Hortensio's con
viction that he is an eligible suitor for Bianca. In the line

4 A re,' to plead Hortensio's passion

is it too fanciful to suppose that the name of the note suggests the French
a or Italian «, and the form of the phrase * to ' plead, as though he would
have given it in full, ' a rappresentare Tamore ' or some such words ?
The note B naturally suggests Bianca 's name, and on this note I shall
have something more to say presently. One is reminded of the old
joke in Punch about a song with the refrain ' Be mine ' being appro
priately set to music in the key of B minor. So little knowledge had the
printers of the Quarto and the Folios that in them the name of the note
stands as * Beeme '. The next line possibly derives its form of phrase
from the word ' ut ', although the relative use of the word * that * does
not of course represent the conjunction. Leaving for later consideration
the next line, it may be pointed out that the key called 'E la mi J is
elegiac in character, and might very well have such words as 4 have pity '
set to it. The preceding line, ' " D sol re," one clef, two notes have I/
is the one puzzling thing in the verse, for there is no possible sense in
which that step of the scale can be said to have two notes. The appro-

1 It is perhaps hardly necessary to add that the sign for the natural (&) is another
modification of the same letter, introduced later than the other two signs. The sharp and
flat were anciently used to restore the original pitch after an accidental, as we now use the
natural.

74 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

priateness of the words to Hortensio's disguise is obvious, but how do
they fit the gamut ? The only note of which they can be true is the
higher B, the octave above * B mi '. For, as explained above, this note
has to take on two forms, B flat and B natural, according to the different
hexachords to which it belongs. Are we to suppose that Shakespeare
did not know this, or that he made Hortensio ignorant of what he pro
fessed to teach ? I think he wanted the quip about the ambiguity of
the note B somewhere in his verse, yet to go regularly up the scale for
five lines more till he got to the upper B would have lengthened out the
scene unduly ; besides, * B mi ' was already appropriated to Bianca,
so that he just transferred the ambiguous character of that note to one
for which there was no special pun.

It will be noticed that in the table given above the place of the
notes on the musical stave is taught side by side with the useful, if arbi
trary, syllables which contain the germ of that well-known adaptation
of the gamut by Miss Glover, known throughout the British dominions
as the * Tonic Sol-Fa Notation '. The principle that not merely the
starting-points of the hexachords, but any and every note of the scale,
can be viewed as the ut or do (as the tonic, or keynote, is now called)
of its own scale, is of inestimable value, and the modern develop
ment of the gamut, the * modulator ' which hangs in every elementary
schoolroom at the present moment, contains many important truths, of
some of which most Tonic Sol-Fa teachers seem unaware. It is a sad
pity that the syllables have become divorced from the staff notation in
too many cases, so that proficiency in their utterance is popularly
supposed to be * reading * music at sight. If the two systems had always
been kept together, with the syllables used as an introduction to the
staff, as they are in the gamut, the diffusion of real musical skill through
out the country would be far greater than it is now. Those who find in
the prevalence of the * new * notation the chief obstacle to real advance
in the training of choirs in difficult music, will be inclined to say with
Bianca :

I like it not:

Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice,
To change true rules for odd inventions.

J. A. FULLER- MAITL AND.

W. BARCLAY SQUIRE 75

FROM time to time various attempts have been made to compile
a complete bibliography of music connected with Shakespeare's plays
and poems. The most elaborate, if not the most correct, was the List of
all the Songs and Passages in Shakspere which have been set to Music,
issued in 1884, as No. 3 of Series VIII of the publications of the New
Shakspere Society. But this list was in many respects incomplete
and inaccurate. The work, indeed, is one of very great difficulty and
would require not only considerable research but also more musical
knowledge than was possessed by the authors of the New Shakspere
Society's list. To accomplish it properly some sort of classification would
be absolutely necessary. In the first rank might be placed Incidental
Music (vocal and instrumental) intended, like the Shakespearian settings
of Arne, to accompany stage performances of the various plays ; another
category should include vocal settings of words by Shakespeare, not
primarily intended for stage performance ; a third class would be
devoted to instrumental and vocal works inspired by, or intended to
illustrate musically, works by Shakespeare ; while a final section could
be devoted to operas founded on subjects derived from the plays. As
a contribution to the last of these categories the present notes have been
drawn up. They have no claim to completeness and are only to be
looked upon as hints or suggestions for future workers. At the outset
very great difficulties are encountered, for of all branches of theatrical
literature that of operatic librettos has been most neglected by biblio
graphers. Usually printed for special occasions in very small editions,
the librettos of operas have often appeared without complying with the
registration formalities of the Copyright Acts, and, in England at least,
have consequently seldom found their way into public libraries. Even
when they have done so, they have generally been entered under the
names of the authors, and who, among many, could say off-hand who
are the authors of even such well-known works as Beethoven's Fidelio,
Verdi's Trovatore, or Humperdinck's Hansel und Gretel ? When, as in

76 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

the case of the great mass of operas on Shakespearian subjects, we have
to deal with a number of works which have only enjoyed an ephemeral
existence, the difficulty is multiplied indefinitely, and we are forced to
have recourse to the standard opera-dictionaries of Clement and Larousse
and Riemann, where the works are entered under their titles. But
here fresh difficulties are encountered, for it is often impossible to tell
from their titles whether the operas are really based on Shakespeare,
and even whether they are operas at all, or only productions of Shake
speare's plays interlarded with additional music, as in the case of the
many so-called operas for which Sir Henry Bishop was responsible in
London in the early part of the nineteenth century. Of late the neglected
subject of opera-librettos seems to have attracted the attention of biblio
graphers. The Library of Congress (Washington) has acquired what
is probably the richest collection of such works, and Mr. O. G. Sonneck,
the librarian in charge of the musical department, has issued an admi
rably exhaustive catalogue of the earlier part of the collection. The
British Museum has also turned its attention to librettos and has ac
quired some valuable collections, which have been incorporated in the
printed general Catalogue. The whole of this has been recently read
through and the librettos re-catalogued under the names of the operas,
with a view to the publication of a libretto-catalogue somewhat on the
lines of the Library of Congress Catalogue. This work is at present
still in manuscript, but it has been made use of in drawing up the follow
ing notes. In their preparation it has been thought best to adopt an
alphabetical arrangement under the names of the different plays : where
a play is omitted it is to be understood that no opera on the subject has
been discovered.

Antony and Cleopatra.

There is a long list (under * Cleopatre ') in the Dictionnaire Lyrique
of Clement and Larousse, and another list (under * Kleopatra ') in
Riemann Js Opern-Handbuch of operas in which Cleopatra is the heroine,
but it is doubtful whether any of these can be said to be based on Shake
speare's play. Enna's Cleopatra (1894), Masse 's Nuit de Cleopatre
(1885), Massenet's CUopdtre (1914), and Collin de Blamont's ballet
CUopdtre (1748), have no connexion with the play. The Antonius
und Kleopatra of J. C. Kaflka (1779) and of Count E. F. von Sayn-
Wittgenstein (1883), and R- Kreutzer's ballet Les Amours d'Antoine et
de CUopdtre (1808) seem possibly, from their titles, to be founded on
Shakespeare.

W. BARCLAY SQUIRE 77

As You Like It.

The play was turned into an opera by P. A. Rolli for Francesco
Maria Veracini and produced as Rosalinda during the composer's visit
to London in 1744. There are other operas with the same name :
La Rosalinda, by G. M. Capelli (Venice, 1692) and by M. A. Ziani
(Venice, 1693), but these have no connexion with Shakespeare's comedy,
nor has the Rosalinda of J. Lockman and J. C. Smith (London, 1740).
There are also two operas called Rosalinde by N. A. Strungk (Leipzig,
1695) and F. van Duyse (Antwerp, 1864) as to which information is
wanting. As You Like It was played in London in 1824, arranged as an
opera by Bishop.

The Comedy of Errors.

A musical pasticcio by Bishop was concocted on the play and pro
duced in London in 1819.

Coriolanus.

Numerous old Italian operas on Coriolanus, generally entitled
Caio Marzio Coriolano, are recorded in the dictionaries, but it is un
certain whether any of them are founded on Shakespeare.

Hamlet.

The librettos of the earlier Italian works on Hamlet were generally
by Apostolo Zeno and P. Pariati ; the French adaptation by Ducis was
made use of later. Operas by the following composers are recorded
(in chronological order) : C. F. Gasparini (Rome, 1705 — played in
London in 1712), Domenico Scarlatti (Rome, 1715), G. Carcano (Venice,
1742), Caruso (Florence, 1790), Foppa (Padua, 1792), Andreozzi
(Genoa, 1793), Count von Gallenberg — a * Pantomime tragique ' —
(Paris, 1816), Mercadante (Milan, 1823), Mareczek (Briinn, 1840),
Buzzola (Venice, 1848), Moroni (Rome, 1860), Faccio — book by Boito —
(Genoa, 1865), Ambroise Thomas (Paris, 1868), A. Stadtfeld (Bonn,
1881), and A. Hignard (Nantes, 1888). Of all these, only Ambroise
Thomas's opera survived for a time. To judge by the few excerpts that
have been published, Faccio 's work was the most remarkable of the
long series ; it had the advantage of an admirable libretto, in which
Shakespeare's tragedy was closely followed.

78 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

Julius Caesar.

There are innumerable operas — mostly of the eighteenth century —
on Julius Caesar y as to which Riemann and Clement and Larousse may
be consulted. But it is very doubtful whether any of them are founded
on Shakespeare.

King Henry IV.

The early career of Henry V has formed the subject of a certain
number of operas, but most of these (e. g. Herold's La Gioventh di
Enrico V (Naples, 1817), and Pacini's work with the same title (Rome,
1821)) have nothing to do with Shakespeare. An exception is Merca-
dante's Gioventh di Enrico V (Milan, 1834), the libretto of which, by
F. Romani, is founded on Shakespeare's Henry IV. Further informa
tion is desirable as to P. J. de Voider 's Lajeunesse de Henri Cinq (Ghent,
c. 1825) and other operas on the same subject recorded in the dictionaries.
The Falstaff scenes may have been used in some of the operas of that
name, but they are here entered under The Merry Wives of Windsor.

King Lear.

The earliest opera on this tragedy seems to be the Cordelia of
C. Kreutzer (Donaueschingen, 1819) ; the same title is borne by works
by Seme'ladis (Versailles, 1854) and Gobati (Bologna, 1881). A Lear
by A. Reynaud saw the light at Toulouse in 1888. The Cordelia of
the Russian composer N. T. Solowiew (1885) is founded on Sardou's
La Haine ; the subject is quite different from Shakespeare's tragedy.
It is well known that Verdi at one time thought of taking Lear as the
subject of an opera, but unfortunately the idea was never carried out.

King Richard HI.

G. Salvayre's Richard HI (Petrograd, 1883) is founded on Shake
speare's play, though much altered. The Riccardo III of G. B. Meiners
(Milan, 1859), on tne other hand, has no connexion with the English
poet. As to the Richardus Impius Angliae Rex of J. Eberlin (Salzburg,
1750) and the Riccardo HI of L. Canepa (Milan, 1879), information is
lacking.

W. BARCLAY SQUIRE 79

Macbeth.

Much incidental music has been written for Macbeth, but the
subject has not escaped the attention of librettists. It was treated as
a Ballo tragico by F. Clerico (Milan, 1802), and again as a Ballo
mimico by C. Pugni (Milan, 1830) — a very curious work, in the sleep
walking scene of which Lady Macbeth kills her own son, thinking he is
Duncan !

The earliest opera on the subject seems to be the Macbeth of
H. Chelard (Paris, 1827), played in London in 1832, the libretto of
which was by the composer of the Marseillaise, Rouget de PIsle, who
has given Duncan a daughter and introduced the sleep-walking scene
before the discovery of the King's murder. Taubert's Macbeth (Berlin,
1857) follows the tragedy fairly closely. There is an early opera on
Macbeth by Verdi, originally produced in Florence in 1847 and revised
and partly rewritten for Paris in 1865. In spite of some fine passages
there is little in the work to foreshadow the composer's great achieve
ments in Otello and Falstaff : the opera is written in the conventional
Italian idiom of the day and it has never survived. The most recent
musical drama on Shakespeare's tragedy is the Macbeth of E. Bloch,
played at the Paris Opera Comique in 1910. It is interesting to note that
in 1809 there was published the First Act of a libretto on Macbeth by
J. von Collin : sketches by Beethoven for an overture and chorus in this
were printed by G. Nottebohm in the Musikalisches Wochenblatt for 1879.

The Merchant of Venice.

The only opera on this play was composed by C. Pinsuti and pro
duced at Milan in 1874. Clement and Larousse record a Dutch opera
on the subject, by J. A. Just, performed at Amsterdam about 1787, but
this work is the Koopman van Smyrna, first produced at Bonn in
1782.

The Merry Wives of Windsor.

An obscure violinist named Papavoine seems to have been the first
to use this play as the foundation of an opera. His work, entitled Le
Vieux Coquet, was produced in Paris in 1761, but was withdrawn
after one performance. There are German operas on the play by
P. Ritter (Mannheim, 1794) and Ditters von Dittersdorf (Oels, 1796) as

8o A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

to which little seems to be known. Salieri's Falstaff t osia Le ire
Burle (Dresden, 1799) has a good libretto, printed in Italian and
German. A musical version of the play, chiefly by Braham, Horn, and
Parry, was produced in London in 1823. An Italian opera — Falstaff
—by Balfe (London, 1838), Otto Nicolai's Die Lustigen Weiber von
Windsor (Berlin, 1849), Adolphe Adam's Falstaff (Paris, 1856), and
Verdi's Falstaff (Milan, 1893) complete the list. It is curious that
the Merry Wives should have given rise to two operas like that of
Nicolai — which has enjoyed longer popularity than any other Shake
spearian opera — and the Falstaff of Verdi, a work of consummate genius
which the public has never yet appreciated at its real value.

A Midsummer Night's Dream.

This is one of the earliest of Shakespeare's plays which was laid
hands on for operatic purposes. It was turned by some anonymous
adaptor into a (so-called) opera, with admirable music by Henry Purcell,
produced in London in 1692. The adaptation is very curious, for
Shakespeare's dialogue is partly retained, while the musical additions
have the least possible relation to the play, with the result that not one
word of Shakespeare's has been set by Purcell. Other operas on the
play are The Fairies , by J. C. Smith (London, 1755), and (probably)
Manusardi's Un Sogno di Primavera (Milan, 1842) ; Busby's Fair
Fugitives (London, 1803), which is given in some dictionaries as
founded on Shakespeare, has nothing to do with the play, nor have
Ambroise Thomas's Songe d'une Nuit d'fite (Paris, 1850) and Offen
bach's Reve d'une Nuit dy£ti (Paris, 1855). The Zarzuela El Sueno
de una Noche de Verano, by Gaztambide (Madrid, 1852), probably
belongs to the same category as the two last-named works. A musical
version of Shakespeare's play was produced by Bishop in London in
1816 and the Clowns' Masque forms the foundation of the Pyramus
and Thisbe of Leveridge (London, 1716) and of Lampe (London, 1745).

Much Ado About Nothing.

There are four operas founded on this play, viz. Beatrice et Benedict,
by Berlioz (Baden-Baden, 1862) ; Beaucoup de Bruit pour rien, by P. Puget
(Paris, 1899); Much Ado About Nothing, by Stanford (London, 1900)
and Ero, by C. Podesta (Cremona, 1900).

W. BARCLAY SQUIRE 81

Othello.

Rossini's Otello (Naples, 1816) enjoyed a long run of popularity,
but seems now to be defunct ; a Ballo Tragico, arranged by S. Vigano
(composer not stated), was produced in Milan in 1818, and the same place
saw in 1887 the first performance of Verdi's Otello, the composer's
operatic masterpiece. A * Juguete comico lirico ' by M. Nieto, entitled
Oteloy Desdemona (Madrid, 1883), has nothing to do with Shakespeare's
tragedy.

Romeo and Juliet.

This play has formed the basis of a very large number of operas
and ballets, with various titles. The earliest seems to be a Dramma
per musica in two Acts, published at Berlin in 1773, without any com
poser's name. It was followed in quick succession by works on the
same subject by G. Benda (Gotha, 1776), J. G. Schwanenberg (Leipzig,
1776), L. Marescalchi (Rome, 1789), S. von Rumling (Munich, 1790),
Dalayrac (Paris, 1792), Steibelt (Paris, 1793), Zingarelli (Milan, 1796),
Porta (Paris, 1806), I. Schuster (Vienna, 1808), P. C. Guglielmi (London,
1810), Vaccai (Milan, 1825), Bellini (Venice, 1830), a ballet without
composer's name (Milan, 1830), F. Gioja — a ballet (Milan, 1833),
Marchetti (Trieste, 1865), Gounod (Paris, 1867), A. Mercadal (Mahon,
1873), Marquis d'lvry (Paris, 1878), and H. R. Shelley (published in
New York, 1901). An operatic version of Berlioz's Romeo et Juliette
symphony was published in Paris c. 1880.

The Taming of the Shrew.

A musical version, chiefly by Beaham and T. S. Cooke, saw the
light in London in 1828, but the only real opera on the play is H. Goetz's
Der Widerspdnstigen Zdhmung (Mannheim, 1874), an excellent work
which seems to have fallen into undeserved neglect. The ballad farce
A Cure for a Scold (London, 1735) is founded on Shakespeare's play,
but considerably altered (by James Worsdale). V. Martin's Capricciosa
corretta (Lisbon, 1797), mentioned in some of the dictionaries, has an
entirely different plot.

The Tempest.

There is more difficulty in giving a correct list of operas on this
play than in any other case, owing to the uncertainty as to dates and to

G

82 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

the habit which musical lexicographers have of assuming that every
work called La Tempesta, Der Geisterinsel, Der Sturm, &c., must be
based on Shakespeare. The following list is therefore entirely tentative
and subject to revision. The earliest opera on the play is the version
of Thomas Shad well, with music by Matthew Locke, played in London
in 1673. This seems to have been revised in 1676 and again in 1690 or
1695 (the date has never been definitely ascertained) with the well-
known and beautiful music of Henry Purcell. Other operas recorded
as being on the same subject are as follows : J. C. Smith (London,
1756) ; Aspelmayr (Vienna, 1782) ; J. H. Rolle (Berlin, 1784) ; Fabrizi
(Rome, 1788) ; Winter (Munich, 1793) ; Fleischmann (Ratisbon,
1796) ; Reichardt (Berlin, 1798) ; Wenzel Miiller (Vienna, 1798) ;
Zumsteeg (Stuttgart, 1798) ; P. Ritter (Aurich, 1799) ; Caruso (Naples,
1799) ; J. H. Hensel (Hirschberg, 1799) ; P. Wranitzky (c. 1800) ;
A. J. Emmert (Salzburg, 1806) ; E. Raymond (c. 1840) ; Rung (Copen
hagen, 1847); Halevy (London, 1850) ; Napravnik (Prague, c. 1860);
Kaschperov (Petrograd, 1867) ; Urich (probably not on Shakespeare,
Brussels, 1879) J Chapi (a zarzuela, almost certainly not on Shakespeare,
Madrid, 1883) > E. Frank (Hanover, 1887) ; Urspruch (Frankfurt,
1888) ; Ambroise Thomas (a ballet, Paris, 1889) ; and Z. Fibich (Prague,

Timon of Athens.

The Timone Misantropo of the Emperor Leopold I (Vienna, 1696)
was probably founded on Shakespeare's play.

Twelfth Night.

A musical version was produced by Bishop in London in 1820,
but the only genuine opera from the play seems to be the Cesario of
W. Taubert (Berlin, 1874).

The Two Gentlemen of Verona.
Bishop produced a musical version, played in London in 1821.

The Winter's Tale.

This play forms the basis of the Hertnione of Max Bruch (Berlin,
1872).

W. BARCLAY SQUIRE 83

Owing to the incomplete character of the above lists, it is not
possible, without further research, to give definite statistics as to the
operas that have been derived from Shakespeare's plays. But it is
clearly evident that The Tempest and Romeo and Juliet have proved the
most tempting subjects to librettists, followed closely by Hamlet and
longo intervallo by The Merry Wives of Windsor. As to the nationality
of the composers, probably we shall not be far wrong in giving them as
about thirty-three per cent. Italian, thirty per cent. German, nine
teen per cent. French, eleven per cent. English, and the remainder of
other nationalities.

W. BARCLAY SQUIRE.

G 2

84 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

WILLIAM

AN artist may seem out of place in this procession of the initiated
and his rustic pipe unworthy of its subject. * Tristis at ille, tamen
cantabunt Arcades' Shakespeare is our common heritage. He exists
for all, not only for the scholar and the critic, and however inadequate
its expression, our gratitude for all that we owe to this surpassing genius
is not less fervent and sincere than theirs. What that feeling is I will
endeavour to define.

It has been suggested that this obligation may have some special
bearing in the case of artists, that is, as I take it, that they may have
found in Shakespeare direct technical motives in their several arts.
Industrious students have collected references to the arts in his works,
and have even sought to draw up a sort of aesthetic of Shakespeare.

To me this seems false criticism, and the wrong point of view from
which to approach him. Literature and the arts have their own limits
and conditions, and they are by no means interchangeable, and when
Shakespeare turned to the arts, he used them as he used all nature, for
the setting and environment of his humanity, to give the atmosphere
he wanted, and without any ulterior intention. He drew on what he
saw or had heard, without formulating to himself any theory of the
arts, without any idea of providing in his word-paintings matter for
direct translation into terms of graphic or plastic art. That his plays
have provided inexhaustible subjects for illustration does not affect the
point that Shakespeare's attitude to the arts was objective, and that when
he refers to them he does so, not from the technical standpoint of an
artist, but from that of a poet and a student and observer of universal
nature. There is the famous word-picture in the Rape of Lucrece,
where the poet gives a panorama of the siege of Troy — adding scene to
scene and detail to detail with a profusion which would be simply im
possible in an actual picture. The poet no doubt had some picture
before him, and let his fancy play on it in order to convey to his reader
a cumulative impression of all the turmoil and emotions of the siege

REGINALD BLOMFIELD 85

of Troy, but it would be the first business of a painter to eliminate the
greater part of the detail which came within the scope of the poet's
imagination. One might as well attempt to design a house from
Bacon's Essay, as attempt to convey in any one picture the impressions
given by Shakespeare's verse. Poets do not exist to write specifications
for architects and painters.

Yet this in no way affects our debt of gratitude to Shakespeare.
The common basis of all imaginative art is our humanity, our likes
and dislikes, our hopes and fears, our ideals and our scheme of values ;
and the man who most of all extends the range of our outlook, quickens
our imagination and teaches us to see beauty everywhere, and to discern
the vital interests of life, is the man to whom we shall turn again and
again, with ever-increasing gratitude. In Shakespeare, more than in
any poet or playwright that has ever lived, we find this teacher. The
wise old Latin prided himself on his interest in all humanity. Shake
speare had that interest in a transcendent degree, because he did not
limit his interest to men and cities, but included in his outlook the whole
range of nature with man as part of it. So it is, that he has provided an
immense spiritual background for all imaginative artists. He has done
the one supreme thing. He has given us not only visions but the power
of seeing, and he has given us this power unreservedly and with the
inexhaustible bounty of some great natural force. Other writers of
genius have their own special conditions. The splendid verse of
Milton, Swift's clean-cut prose, Keat's lyrics, require their own mood,
their own particular temperament for their full appreciation. It is not
so with Shakespeare. He appeals to us anywhere and under all con
ditions with the inexhaustible richness of his genius, with a certain
universality that passes beyond the limits of time and local circumstance.

Literature alone survives in strenuous times, and not only survives
but seems to burn with brighter and more ardent fires. Shakespeare's
age was the age par excellence of great adventure, and then, as now,
Englishmen were fighting for their lives and liberties, for their ideals
and for all that makes life worth living for themselves and their posterity,
and that age remains the period of the unrivalled flowering of English
literature with no real counterpart in the arts of the time. The writer
was ahead of the artist. He had grasped the spirit of the far-away
Renaissance, its large humanity, its spacious outlook, when our sculptors
and our painters had not yet recovered their heritage, and our builders still
thought in terms of Gothic, however much they might try to catch the
fashion with their travesties of the orders . The man of ideas , the man who

86 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

had to realize his ideas clearly in order to make them articulate, was
generations ahead of the artist who plodded humbly in his wake, a figure
not without pathetic interest in its gropings after ideals ill-understood.
John Shute might say of his treatise of the orders, * That with it as with
a klew or thread, or plaine pathway a man may most easily pearse and
lightly pasover the most darke and unknown corners of the whole
process ' of Architecture. The thread snapped in the hand of the user.
Elizabethan architecture and Elizabethan art generally stand on a very
different plane from that of Elizabethan literature. It is dear to us for
its associations, not for its intrinsic value. We like to think of the low
browed, half-timbered hostelries in which Falstaff took his pleasures,
of Justice Shallow's trim garden and orchard * where in an arbour we
will eat a last year's pippin of my own graffing ', of rare and curious
jewellery because Elizabeth and her ladies wear it, of the quaint em
broidery of their gowns, of all that kindly, homely art that we associate
with the England of Elizabeth.

But if we turn on to it the cold dry light of historical criticism we
have to admit that it is not first-rate, not very important in the history
of art, a very humble companion of our sixteenth-century literature. We
may love it for what it means to us, but we should be under no illusion
as to its relative position in the history of art. In other ages the painter,
the sculptor, and the architect, have as much to say to us as the writer.
Michael Angelo dominates Italy of the sixteenth century, Wren speaks
to us as clearly as Dryden, Turner's vision of nature impresses us more
than the poetry of Wordsworth, but the England of Elizabeth will
always be summed up for us in the plays and poetry of Shakespeare ;
they are the real setting and background of that splendid age.

One would have thought that there could be no misconception
as to a figure so typically English. The Germans have claimed him for
their own, yet it is impossible to conceive anything more remote from
Shakespeare's serene and happy genius than the modern German
attitude to life, to nature, and to art, than the habit of mind that finds its
pleasure in the dissonances of Strauss, that conceives of the masterpieces
of Greek Tragedy in the terms of a blatant showman, that prefers the
horrible and morbid to the beauty of the cloud in the sky, the wind in
the reeds, beauty of movement, form, and colour. We turn to Shake
speare and find the clearest and cleanest mind, the sanest thinker that
has ever written in ours or any other language. His splendid vision saw
beauty everywhere ; in the sky, in the sea, in the city, in the solitary
place — everything yielded its measure of beauty to his magic touch, and

REGINALD BLOMFIELD 87

beyond and above all price is the large humanity of this extraordinary
nature, so rich in sympathy, so intense in its sensitiveness to every sort
of vital impression.

He has fixed for us the true type of Englishman. I do not mean
any one special character, but rather a figure as it were that slowly enters
into our consciousness, that disengages itself from the complexity of his
creations as the standard and ideal of all Englishmen. Our race has its
manifold weaknesses, but it has never yet wholly failed in its passionate
love of freedom and justice, its hatred of oppression and sympathy with
the weak and lowly, in dogged courage, in keen and ever-present humour,
and not least of all in that rare capacity for ideals, little suspected by
those who do not know us, yet so deep-seated and inveterate that it
realizes itself not in speech but in action. This is the high ideal of
character that is recognized by our race throughout the world, and it
has been set for us for all time by the unique and incomparable genius
of Shakespeare.

REGINALD BLOMFIELD,

FROGNAL, HAMPSTEAD,
February, 1916.

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

THE SACK OF TT(pT IN SHAK^ESPEAT^S
^LUCT(ECE' <AND IN SOME FIFTEENTH-
CENTURA DT(AtVINGS <AND TAPESTT(IESl

WHAT are the points of contact to be noticed between the art of
Shakespeare as poet and dramatist and the graphic and plastic arts as
they were known and practised in his time : in other words, where and
to what extent do we find him showing familiarity with works of painting
or sculpture or deriving suggestions from them ? In the great kingdom
of Shakespeare study the province to which these questions point is
a very small one, but has perhaps not yet been quite thoroughly explored.
The only contribution I feel qualified to make to the present Memorial
Volume — and a very humble contribution it will be — is an examination
of a particular nook or corner of that province which happens long to
have interested me.

I do not intend to discuss the character or conversation of the pro
fessional painter who plays a part in Timon of Athens ; neither shall
I dwell on the amatory pictures from Ovid with which the nobleman in
The Taming of the Shrew (in what is supposed, be it remembered, to be
the non- Shakespearian part of it) directs his servants to tickle the
clownish senses of Christopher Sly. Nor shall I revive the old debate
whether the two pictures between which Hamlet bids his mother make
comparison in the closet scene were meant to be real pictures or merely
pictures of the mind, and whether, in the former case, Shakespeare
thought of them as full-sized portraits or as miniatures — as things that
might have been done, let us say, to instance two among his contem
poraries, by Mark Garrard or Nicolas Hilliard respectively. I will not

1 The chief authorities on the works of art referred to are : A. Jubinal, Les Anctennes
Tapisseries histories ^ Paris, 1838-9; Paul Schumann, Der Trojanisc he Krieg.fr anzostsche
Handzeichnungen zu Teppichen, u.s.w., Dresden, 1898; Jean Guiffrey, Histoire de la
tapisserie depuis le moyen age, 1886 ; id. ' La Guerre de Troie ', &c., in Revue de I'Ari,
torn, v (1899) I an<* the Catalogue of the Rheims Museum.

SIDNEY COLVIN 89

even let myself — though I should like to — linger on the question what
kind of a picture, sacred or profane, an Annunciation to the Shepherds
or a descent of Mercury on a mission from Jove (for a picture of some
kind I am sure it was), suggested the enraptured lines in which Romeo
cries to Juliet that she is

As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds,
And sails upon the bosom of the air.

Personally I can never help associating those lines with the shepherd
who throws back his head to gaze up at the child angel riding on the
cloud in that wonderful purple-blue mountain background of Titian 's
Virgin and Child with Saint Catherine in the National Gallery —
a picture which Shakespeare is quite unlikely to have seen. Again, with
reference to the famous speech of Jaques in As You Like It about the
seven ages of man, seeing that the subject was a stock one alike in
morality play and masque, in paintings and decorations of all kinds, in
the head-pieces of illuminated and printed calendars and in the woodcuts
of cheap popular broadsides, I will not ask from which among all the
many and various current treatments of it, scenic or graphic, Shake
speare may have taken his cue : I will only allow myself to note in
passing (I know not whether it has been noted before) a curious identity
between the phrase of Jaques concerning the type of the fourth age, the
soldier,

Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth,

and that used by the Italian painter-critic Carlo Ridolfi when he tells
of a similar figure in a painting, now lost, of the same subject of the
Ages of Man (or Symbol of Human Life) by Giorgione : * Nel mezzo
eravi un uomo di robusto aspetto tutto armato . . . pronto di vendicare
ogni piccola offesa e preparato negli arringhi di Marte a versare il sangue
per lo desio della gloria.*

The sole and special passage of Shakespeare on which for the
present purpose I want the reader to fix his attention is the description
in his early poem, The Rape of Lucrece, of the painting of the Sack of
Troy which occupies the eyes and thoughts of the dishonoured matron
while she waits till her husband Collatine shall come from the camp at

90 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

her summons. It is far the longest account of a work of art in any
part of Shakespeare's writings, filling a little over two hundred lines.
For my purpose the first hundred or so must of necessity be quoted
in full :

At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece

Of skilful painting-, made for Priam's Troy ;

Before the which is drawn the power of Greece,

For Helen's rape the city to destroy,

Threatening cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy ;
Which the conceited painter drew so proud,
As heaven, it seem'd, to kiss the turrets bow'd.

A thousand lamentable objects there,
In scorn of nature, art gave lifeless life ;
Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear,
Shed for the slaughter'd husband by the wife:
The red blood reek'd, to show the painter's strife ;

And dying eyes gleam 'd forth their ashy lights,

Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights.

There might you see the labouring pioneer
Begrimed with sweat, and smeared all with dust ;
And from the towers of Troy there would appear
The very eyes of men through loop-holes thrust,
Gazing upon the Greeks with little lust :

Such sweet observance in this work was had,
That one might see those far-off eyes look sad.

In great commanders grace and majesty

You might behold, triumphing in their faces;

In youth quick bearing and dexterity ;

And here and there the painter interlaces

Pale cowards, marching on with trembling paces;
Which heartless peasants did so well resemble,
That one would swear he saw them quake and tremble.

In Ajax and Ulysses, O! what art
Of physiognomy might one behold ;
The face of either cipher'd cither's heart ;
Their face their manners most expressly told:
In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigour roll'd;

But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent

Show'd deep regard and smiling government.

There pleading might you see grave Nestor stand,

As 'twere encouraging the Greeks to fight ;

Making such sober action with his hand,

That it beguil'd attention, charm'd the sight.

In speech, it seem'd, his beard, all silver white,
Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did fly
Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the sky.

SIDNEY COLVIN 91

About him were a press of gaping faces,

Which seem'd to swallow up his sound advice ;

All jointly listening, but with several graces,

As if some mermaid did their ears entice,

Some high, some low, the painter was so nice;
The scalps of many, almost hid behind,
To jump up higher seem'd, to mock the mind.

Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head,

His nose being shadow'd by his neighbour's ear;

Here one being throng'd bears back, all boll'n and red ;

Another smother'd, seems to pelt and swear;

And in their rage such signs of rage they bear,
As, but for loss of Nestor's golden words,
It seem'd they would debate with angry swords.

For much imaginary work was there;
Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind,
That for Achilles' image stood his spear,
Grip'd in an armed hand ; himself behind,
Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind :

A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head,

Stood for the whole to be imagined.

And from the walls of strong-besieged Troy
When their brave hope, bold Hector, march'd to field,
Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy
To see their youthful sons bright weapons wield;
And to their hope they such odd action yield,
That through their light joy seemed to appear,
Like bright things stain'd, a kind of heavy fear.

And from the strand of Dardan, where they fought,

To Simois' reedy banks the red blood ran,

Whose waves to imitate the battle sought

With swelling ridges; and their ranks began

To break upon the galled shore, and than
Retire again, till, meeting greater ranks,
They join and shoot their foam at Simois' banks.

To this well-painted piece is Lucrece come,

To find a face where all distress is stell'd.

Many she sees where cares have carved some,

But none where all distress and dolour dwell'd,

Till she despairing Hecuba beheld,

Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes,
Which bleeding under Pyrrhus' proud foot lies.

When a poet describes a work of the manual arts at length, it is
often hard to be sure whether he is working from imagination or from
something he has really seen and noted with his eyes, or partly from one
and partly from the other. But there are cases, and this is one, where
the particularity of the description and the insistence on technical

92 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

details make it certain that actual and interested observation has furnished
the original material, however much imagination may have added to or
vivified it. Of what kind, then, we have to ask ourselves, will the
painting of the Siege of Troy have been which had thus caught and fixed
Shakespeare's attention in the early years of his career as actor and poet
in London ? Among the pictures on panel or canvas either executed
in England by immigrants from Germany or the Low Countries or
imported from abroad up to this date (1593), the vast majority, according
to what has always been the chief English national demand, were por
traits. Subjects of poetry or mythology were not wanting ; but it is
difficult to conceive that there can have existed any such crowded and
complicated history or battle piece, figuring many successive scenes
within the four corners of a single frame, as would answer to the descrip
tion above quoted. On the other hand, in the spacious figured tapes
tries that had been coming over since the later years of the fifteenth
century from the looms of Flanders and northern France such composi
tions were the rule. The thousand objects to which art, in the painting
described by the poet, * gave lifeless life ', their number and minuteness,
the visible tears and blood, the gleam of dying eyes, the expressions in
the eyes of the men looking out from the loopholes of the tower, the
multitudinousness of the figures, the diversity and vividness of their
gestures and expressions, and especially the manner, so precisely
described, of their crowding and packing above and behind one another
to the top of the composition — all these things, even when we have made
full allowance for the dramatizing and intensifying effects introduced by
the play of the poet's imagination, seem to point unmistakably to a work
on the scale of a great tapestry-hanging, not of an ordinary framed picture
on panel or canvas.

But would Shakespeare have called a tapestry a ' painting ' ? We
have no clear instance of his doing so : but he certainly would have had
no scruple in giving that name to the imitation tapestries or * painted
cloths ' which in his day and earlier were so much in use as substitutes
for or supplements to the costly products of the looms of Arras or
Brussels. We have a difficulty in realizing all the part played by woven
or painted hangings in those days, both in the fixed decoration of halls
and chambers and for show on special occasions and representations.
Of the cheaper, the painted variety, owing to their fragility and the
tendency of the distemper colours to scale from the surface, few speci
mens remain in existence : the most important are four sets in illustration
of mystery plays preserved until lately in the Museum at Rheims. But

SIDNEY COLVIN 93

Shakespeare, even taken by himself, has sufficient references to painted
cloths to prove their general and familiar use in his day. Remember
how Costard, in Love's Labour ys Lost, tells Sir Nathaniel, when he has
broken down in the part of Alexander in the masque, that for a punish
ment he shall be scraped out of the painted cloth of the Nine Worthies
and Ajax put in his stead ; and remember FalstafFs ragged regiment,
' as ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where the glutton's dog
licked his sores '.

But before assuming that the painting, ' made for Priam's Troy ',
upon which Lucrece is represented poring in her despair, was such
a painted hanging on the scale and in the manner of tapestry, let us see
what kind of place the Siege of Troy took among the subjects commonly
represented in the true works of that craft. In point of fact it is one of
the subjects for which tapestry designers and weavers, doubtless follow
ing the taste of the great princes and nobles for whom they worked, had
a special predilection. Next to series of Bible subjects, among fifteenth-
century products of the loom, we have remains or records of series of
Troy subjects in greater number than of any other. Among the com
paratively recent acquisitions of the Louyre is a set of eight highly
finished drawings on a small scale for just such a series : examples of the
' petits patrons ', as they were called, which artists of talent and repute
were called on to supply and from which were afterwards prepared the
full-sized cartoons actually used by the weavers at the loom. They date
from 1480 or a little later ; and among actual Troy tapestries of about
the same date which are still preserved in fragments or entire, several
correspond with these very designs and are founded on them.

One such, belonging to a series which formerly adorned the Chateau
Bayard in Dauphine, is now in the Victoria and Albert Museum : it
represents the arrival of Penthesilea to the succour of Troy after the
death of Hector, her victories, and her final overthrow at the hand of
Pyrrhus. Another from the same or an exactly similar series, in the
cathedral of Zamora in Spain, shows a scene of the Iliupersis or final
destruction of the city. Some of the descriptive French verses found
pinned in manuscript to the backs of the Louvre drawings are actually
woven large along the upper margin of this picture. (Both in tapestries
and their painted imitations it was customary to introduce such inscribed
borders telling the story represented ; also to identify the persons by
inscribing their names on their garments or weapons, and sometimes to
put sayings and sentences on scrolls issuing from their mouths : this is
what Orlando means in As You Like It when he says, ' I answer you

94 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

right painted cloth '. Portions of another set of tapestries founded on
the Louvre drawings, formerly in the Chateau d'Aulhac, are now in the
Court of Justice at Issoire in the Puy-de-D6me, and of yet another in
the Chateau de Sully in the Loiret. There exist also fragments of other
sets of somewhat later date and founded on different drawings.

Thus we have the means of testing by actual comparison how far
the Troy picture so minutely described in Shakespeare's Lucrece corre
sponds or fails to correspond with the representations of the subject
current in French and Flemish tapestries from a hundred years before
his time. To make that comparison is the object of the present paper.
It may be necessary to remind readers not specially conversant with the
subject that the tale of Troy as known to the Middle Ages and the early
Renaissance was a very different thing from the tale as we know it from
Homer. To the Middle Ages Homer was only a name and was tradi
tionally reputed a writer of no credit. Two late and spurious Latin
writings, one current under the name of Dares of Phrygia, the other under
that of Dictys of Crete, were the recognized and established authorities
for the story of the wars of Troy, and were supposed to have been
translated from Greek originals written by contemporary witnesses of the
events. From these books, with additions from Virgil and Ovid, were
compiled all the writings belonging to the Troy cycle which had currency
in the Middle Ages, including the great monumental work of the cycle,
the Roman de Troie, spun towards the close of the twelfth century by the
French court poet Benoit de Sainte-Maure in some 40,000 lines of
octosyllabic verse. A hundred years later the Sicilian Guido delle
Colonne compiled from the romance poem of Sainte-Maure a Latin prose
Historia Destructions Troiae, which became much better known than
the original, and on which the English poet Lydgate in his turn founded
his Troy Book, and many other writers their summaries and allusions,
till an elaborate French prose version in three books, finished in
1464 by one Raoul Le Fevre, priest and chaplain to Philip Duke of
Burgundy, gave the story a new lease of life, gaining great popularity in
the circles which such reading reached and helping to fill men's minds
with images of the Grecian and Trojan heroes doing battle in the guise
of mediaeval knights, and so to stimulate the demand for their present
ment in works of art. As is well known, William Caxton, then resident
and working in Brussels, began rendering Le Fevre 's Recueil into
English for his amusement and was encouraged by the English Duchess
Margaret to complete it : and this translation, finished in 1471 and put
in type some three years later, under the title Recuyell of the Histories of

SIDNEY COLVIN 95

Troy, was the first book ever printed in the English language. It was
reprinted by Wynkyn de Worde in 1503 and again by Copland in 1553,
and was familiar to Shakespeare and his contemporaries.

The tale of Troy, as thus transformed in the Middle Ages and
popularized at the dawn of the Renaissance, included a vast amount of
histories both antecedent and subsequent to the main matter of the siege
and destruction of the city by the Greeks in revenge for the rape of
Helen ; as for instance the stories of Peleus and Thetis, the history of
Jason and the Golden Fleece, the lives and achievements of Hercules
and Theseus, with the first destruction of Troy in vengeance for the
treachery of Laomedon, the return of the Greek heroes, including the
murder of Agamemnon, the vengeance of Orestes, and the accidental
killing of Ulysses by his son. Particularly Le Fevre in his Recueil
enormously amplifies the preliminaries : it is not until his third book
that we get to the final siege under Agamemnon. This was the part of
the story from which the tapestry designers chose their subjects, and
even so, the matters which they had to illustrate took in much which
we now think of as foreign to or outside the tale. They have to show
how Priam dispatched Antenor and other Trojans to plead for the return
of his sister Hesione, who had been carried off by Hercules to Greece,
where she became the wife of Telamon ; how, this embassy being ill-
received, he next sent his son Paris with a company to carry off some
noble damsel of Greece for whom Hesione might be required in exchange ;
how Paris, having been called upon by Mercury in a dream to adjudge
the prize of beauty between the three goddesses, gave it to Venus ; how
he won the love of Helen and carried her off from the temple of the
goddess at Cythera ; then his return with Helen to Troy ; the war
consequently made by the Greeks ; their expedition and landing ;
the prophecies of Calchas and of Cassandra ; the subsequent series
of battles before the walls of Troy ; the multifarious actions and
debates in which the heroes, both Greek and Trojan, play sometimes
the same parts with which we are familiar from Homer, but sometimes
parts totally different ; the loves of Troilus and Briseida (or Creseida) ;
the love of Achilles for Polixena, and his advice to the Greeks to give up
the siege ; the successive deaths of Hector and of Achilles, the latter
presently succeeded as foremost Grecian champion by his son Pyrrhus ;
the succour brought to Troy by the Amazon queen Penthesilea until she
is slain by Pyrrhus ; the treachery of Antenor, who by bribery betrays
the sacred image of Pallas into the hands of the Greeks ; the offer of the
Greeks, as a feigned condition of peace, to requite the loss and appease

96

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

the goddess by the gift of a huge horse of brass (not, in the Recueil
version, of wood) ; the breaking out of the Grecian heroes from their
concealment within the horse and the ensuing sack and rapine, with the
murder of Priam in the temple of Apollo ; the taking captive of Hecuba
and Cassandra and Andromache ; the departure of the Greeks, and the
sacrifice of Polixena by Pyrrhus on the tomb of his father before that
departure could be accomplished.

All this multitude of incidents could not, of course, be told in
a single tapestry picture, whatever its scale and however crowded its
composition, but had to be distributed through a series of such pictures.
The regular process, as documents of the time prove, was to employ
some learned clerk to prescribe, to the artist employed to make the
preliminary designs, the order and arrangement of the scenes to be
represented in each picture — if order or arrangement it can be called,
for the result was essentially a jumble, in which the several scenes were
crowded in promiscuous contact over and under and beside one another,
without boundary or separation. The Louvre series of such designs
contains eight compositions, and the omission of certain subjects seems
to prove that there were originally more. I here reproduce (Plate I, A)
a fragment of one of the series showing, above, the scene of the parting
of Hector and Andromache, Hector being armed for the battle by his
squire while Andromache kneels holding up their babe and imploring
him not to go, and his mother and sisters and Helen join in the prayer ;
and below, the same hero, armed and mounted, encountering in the street
his father Priam, who with lifted hand dissuades him (a non-Homeric
incident of the mediaeval versions) from taking the field. Plate I, B
shows a portion of one of the designs of the same series as actually
executed in full size on a fragment of tapestry from the Chateau d'Aulhac,
figuring a battle under the walls of Troy, with Troilus defending the
wounded Hector against Achilles (' Here manly Hector faints '), and
below, the death of Memnon, with the Trojan women above, looking
on from the walls. Plate II reproduces the greater part of the Louvre
drawing for the scene of the final sack, the same composition as we see
actually carried out on a great scale in the tapestry in the cathedral of
Zamora.

Now let us go back to the text of Shakespeare in Lucrece and
compare it with the examples of tapestry design thus illustrated. It is
clear that Shakespeare is thinking of a single picture, not of a series, but
of a picture which included a number of different scenes and actions :
Nestor haranguing the Greeks, Hector sallying out to battle, Ajax

Plate I

V*.

B

SIDNEY COLVIN

97

quarrelling with Ulysses ; other Greek commanders playing parts un
defined ; a battle beside the Simois, and the final sack of the city, with
the murder of Priam and the mourning of Hecuba. This means that the
design and composition he has in his mind's eye are of the characteristic
jumbled kind exemplified in our Plate II, where we see the turrets
of ' cloud-kissing Ilion ' (inscribed * le chateau Ylion ') closing the scene
at the top, except where we get a glimpse of the Grecian ships to the
extreme left ; the gates of the city, also to the left, through which the
Grecian warriors, after their pretended retreat to Tenedos, crowd in by
the help of their comrades who pour out from the belly of the horse
(in our reproduction a strip has had to be cut from this left-hand edge
of the scene). In front of and beyond the horse a confused scene of
battle and slaughter, with many single combats, is piled up without any
diminishing effect of perspective to indicate distance. To the right of
the centre we see, above, the city beginning to flame, Greeks battering
down the houses with mace and pickaxe, Helen and the other women of
Priam's household taken captive, and below, the temple of Apollo, with
Priam slain by Pyrrhus as he clings to the altar, and Hecuba throwing up
her hands in despair at the sight ; to the extreme right, above, the Greeks
departing to their ships, and below, as a prelude to their homeward
voyage, the sacrifice of Polixena by Pyrrhus on the tomb of Achilles.
This manner of densely crowding the figures above and among and
behind one another is described in minute detail, and with apparently
surprised interest, by Shakespeare, in relation, however, not to a war
like action but to a peaceful one, the discourse of Nestor to the Grecian
host ; see the seventh, eighth, and ninth stanzas above quoted, beginning

About him were a press of gaping faces,

and ending

A hand, a foot, a lace, a leg, a head,
Stood for the whole to be imagined.

This description definitely gives a fifteenth-century character to the
design which Shakespeare is describing, seeing that in the sixteenth,
with the growth of Italian influence and the knowledge of perspective,
this primitive manner of filling the space with superposed and inter-
tangled crowds was gradually abandoned, in tapestry as in other fields
of design, for a system of clearer and more scientific distribution.

Of the other particular incidents mentioned by Shakespeare, some
can and some cannot be strictly paralleled from the Louvre drawings
or from tapestries executed after them. Nestor figures in one of the
drawings, but fighting, not haranguing. The speaking gesture, how-

H

98 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

ever, which Shakespeare attributes to him (' Making such sober action
with his hand ') could well be illustrated from other scenes in the
drawings, as for example that where Antenor and a group of Trojan
chiefs plan their expedition to Greece, or that in which Achilles urges
upon the other princes the abandonment of the siege. Neither of these
is here reproduced : but see the action of Priam as he pleads with Hector
in our Plate I, A. Plate I, B shows the Trojan women looking out from
the walls as described by Shakespeare in the tenth stanza of our quota
tion, though what they are watching is not a scene of gallant setting
forth but one of battle ferociously engaged. This illustration shows,
moreover, how the figures in tapestry of this date were habitually
identified by inscriptions ([polyjdamas, achilles, troillus, hector, le roy
meno [for Memnon], and so forth). Just so, we may be sure, were
they identified in Shakespeare's * well-painted piece '.

Another group on which Shakespeare dwells, as affording Lucrece
the sight of a misery equal to her own, is that of Priam murdered by
Pyrrhus, with Hecuba standing by lamenting. A corresponding tapestry
group is depicted in our Plate II (the figure of Hecuba partly intercepted
by that of the sacker with his pickaxe raised), dramatically and expres
sively enough, although the action is not strictly the same as that which
Shakespeare describes. Representations of this scene in painting or
tapestry were doubtless much in the mind's eye of Elizabethan writers,
and served, along with such printed texts as they knew, to suggest those
lines of Marlowe, in his play of Dido, Queen of Carthage, which Shake
speare parodies in the well-known scene of Hamlet with the players.
It is to be noted that in Lucrece, as in the existing tapestries, the scene is
treated according to the mediaeval version and not according to Virgil,
who represents all the women of the palace as present at the murder.

Following the long passage quoted above from Lucrece comes
another, not needed to be given at length, in which the heroine, accusing
the picture itself, arraigns the lust of Paris and at the same time cries for
vengeance on Pyrrhus and the Greeks who are Troy's enemies, and ends :

Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies,
Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus swounds,
Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies,
And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds,
And one man's lust these many lives confounds:
Had doting Priam check'd his son's desire,
Troy had been bright with fame and not with fire.

Then we have another and longer passage in which, looking round for
objects of compassion, Lucrece perceives the figure of the traitor Sinon

Plate II

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SIDNEY COLVIN 99

where he stands disguised, in pitiable garb and mien, and inveigles the
Trojans with the false tale of the wooden horse. She turns upon this
figure and likens the plausible wickedness of Sinon to that of her own
betrayer, Tarquin. Now in the mediaeval versions of the Troy story
Sinon plays a very small part. He is just mentioned as the inventor
or co-inventor of the wooden (or brazen) horse, and as entering the city
with it, and no more : probably the figure mounted on the horse in
Plate II is he. But the story of his feigned tale to Priam, which fills so
great a place in the second book of the Aeneid, fills none in the Roman
de Troie or the Recuyell, and it is not from mediaeval tradition but direct
from Virgil that Shakespeare, or the painter whose work he describes,
has taken it.

To sum up, then, we have to conceive of the painting so minutely
dwelt upon in Shakespeare's Lucrece as a painted cloth or hanging
designed, in the main, according to the traditions of the French and
Flemish tapestry-designers of 1480-1500, but already containing scenes
— especially the Sinon scene — which did not occur in their accepted
literary sources, and which accordingly they were not accustomed to
include. As to the praises which Shakespeare lavishes on the execution,
the * sweet observance ' in the faces of the women watching from the
walls, the * grace and majesty ' of the commanders, the subtle * art of
physiognomy ' in the respective countenances of Ajax and Ulysses, the
moving representation of

Time's ruin, beauty's wrack, and grim care's reign

in Hecuba, the guile shown lurking beneath the tears of Sinon — as to
these, we must attribute at least the chief part of them to the dramatizing
power of the poet's imagination. Even in the finest works of tapestry
play of facial expression is, from the nature of the craft, not a strong
point, and in our existing Troy tapestries much is lost of the not incon
siderable share of that quality which appears in the Louvre preliminary
sketches. Painting done with a brush has of course more freedom : but it
is not likely that the painter of such a figured cloth as we conceive to have
caught Shakespeare's eye and attention could have been of a rank to
give his faces a tithe of the living character which the poet claims for
them, and we must take him as describing, in this respect, not so much
what he actually found in the picture as what his own genius would
have prompted him to put there had he been an artist.

SIDNEY COLVIN.
H 2

ioo A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

FOR some years past I have been making a study of portraiture
during the Tudor period, a period extending in this purview from the
death of Holbein, in 1543, to the arrival of Van Dyck, in 1632 ; in short,
a period of about one hundred years. One hundred years of English
history ! How much this means and has always meant. Think of the
hundred years that have been spent since Napoleon Bonaparte lost his
last stake on the field of Waterloo. Who will be bold enough to foretell
what may have happened to England before another hundred years
have elapsed. Three hundred years ago William Shakespeare was laid
to rest in the church of the Holy Trinity at Stratford-upon-Avon, in
which town, fifty-two years before, he had first seen the light. In the
year that William Shakespeare was born Elizabeth had been but six
years on the throne. All the great actors in the great world-drama of
the Elizabethan era figured on the stage of history during the lifetime
of William Shakespeare. Set a number of Elizabethan portraits in rows
before the eye, men and women together ; add, if you like, portraits of
ten or twenty years earlier, and ten or twenty years of the reign of King
James I. Study them well, for in these portraits you will see much of
the making of England. You will see real men and real women beneath
the rich and fantastic costumes, which seem so strange to our dullard
comprehensions. Leicester, Essex, Raleigh, Drake, Frobisher, Hawkins,
Burghley, Walsingham, Sidney, Queen Bess herself — how bright they
shine in the empyrean of history. Truly this was a Period, perhaps the
greatest Period in the history of England !

During this Period England was in the making. The Tudor sove
reigns were interlopers, whose very nobility of birth was a matter of
doubt. Sprung originally from a dubious union between a Welsh
adventurer and a French queen, grafted on to royal stock by marriage
with a princess, whose own claim to royal lineage was vitiated by more
than doubtful legitimacy, the Tudors found themselves confronted with
the great families who traced their royal or noble lineage to Plantagenet

LIONEL CUST 101

and Norman ancestors. The Tudors therefore, from Henry VII to
Elizabeth, played the people of England against the old nobility, and
by this encouragement raised the country folk out of the furrows
of feudalism. Students of family history and genealogy are familiar
with the rise under the Tudor dynasty of the yeoman farmer to the
dignity of a gentleman. The spirit of adventure was encouraged, and
younger sons of the yeoman and the squire sought and won their fortunes
in commerce, at the law, or in adventures in foreign lands. Then they
returned and settled back on the land of their birth, where they founded
noble families of good English stock.

From such a stock came William Shakespeare, both on his father's
and his mother's side, from a family of local yeomen righting their way
up to the ranks of gentility. No man was more thoroughly English than
Shakespeare, English in the place and circumstances of his birth, English
in the smattering of education which he got in the local grammar school,
but which proved — as with most Englishmen— that * small Latin and
less Greek ' may be good foundations for success in after life. English
were the haphazard adventures of his early life at Stratford-upon-Avon,
and the marriage in which he became, perhaps unintentionally, in
volved ; English the spirit of adventure which took him up to live by
his wits in London ; most English of all the way in which he returned,
when prosperity shone on him, to his native town, with apparently no
aspirations beyond those of land-ownership and an alderman's gown.
English also is Shakespeare's own reticence about the circumstances of
his own life. At no time does he seem to have been conscious of his
greatness or of the part he was taking in the formation of the national
character. Shakespeare was throughout life what is sometimes called
middle-class, but is better described as bourgeois. He liked to be called
a gentleman, entitled to bear a coat-of-arms, but he always recognized
the social gulf which lay between him and such high-born magnates as
the Earls of Pembroke, Southampton, or Leicester. The perils of high
birth and position were familiar to Shakespeare. Literary gifts had not
saved Surrey, Wyat, or Raleigh from the block, Philip Sidney from the
fatal wound at Zutphen, or Francis Bacon from that sad fall from the
highest post in the land. Shakespeare himself sums up the dangers of
greatness in the fall of Cardinal Wolsey :

How wretched

Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours!
There is, betwixt the smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have.

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

So much the greater was the achievement of William Shakespeare.
Sum up all the literature of the great Elizabethan Period and it will be
found that out of the mass of precious literature, which this Period put
forth, two creations emerge which have had a share in the shaping of
the world : the plays of Shakespeare and the Authorized Version of the
Bible. The English-speaking race has spread itself since Shakespeare's
day over a great part of the inhabited world, and wherever the English
race has penetrated and settled it has brought with it Shakespeare and
the Bible. It was only inexorable fate which prevented Shakespeare
from being alive when the Mayflower sailed from Southampton to the
New World. The struggle for the New World was one of the dominating
ideas of the Elizabethan Period, but it has been the peaceful influence
of the Bible and Shakespeare which has bound the English-speaking
races in one chain of family union. All the armaments in the world
could not have done this.

Not many years after Shakespeare's death Van Dyck painted the
Cavalier poet, Sir John Suckling, standing with a folio volume of
Shakespeare in his hand. Shakespeare might have been alive at the
time when this portrait was painted, so that this tribute from one poet
to another may be regarded as contemporary, like that of Ben Jonson.
Shakespeare was no advertiser of himself or his goods. He never
obtrudes himself into his works, except perhaps in the Sonnets, which
are charged with the exaggerated passion and romance of youth. Yet
throughout the long series of Shakespeare's works, both poems and
dramas, there is a note of individualism which makes a thought, a phrase,
a scene, such as could only have been conceived and written by Shake
speare. With Shakespeare we move in no enchanted palace as with
Spenser, in no solemn cathedral aisles as with Milton ; we do not tread
the depths of hell as with Dante, or get merged in the empyrean ; we
need no guide to scale a mountain height as with Goethe. Shakespeare
is just ourselves, though he has been dead for three hundred years, our
never-failing friend and counsellor, whose thoughts are as fresh and
as bright, as sage and as suggestive, as they were three hundred years ago.
Shakespeare is immortal because he can never grow old ; although he
may be looked upon as the final consummation of the great Elizabethan
Period, his work belongs to the twentieth century as much as to the
seventeenth.

Again, let it be repeated that of no other writings can this be said,
except the Authorized Version of the Bible. It may safely be said that
the sun never sets on Shakespeare and the Bible. Three hundred years

LIONEL CUST 103

have elapsed since William Shakespeare was laid to rest at Stratford-
upon-Avon, but in every part of the globe, wherever the English heart
beats true, Shakespeare's words ring as loud and true to-day as they
did when King Henry V first spoke them on the boards of the Globe
Theatre :

On, on, you noblest English,

Whose blood is fetch'd from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers, that like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought,
And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument :
Dishonour not your mothers ; now attest,
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war; and you, good yeomen,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture ; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding, which I doubt not :
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes;
I see you stand like greyhounds on the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's a-foot:
Follow your spirit; and, upon this charge,
Cry, God for Harry, England, and Saint George.

Nobles and yeomen, officers and men, hand in hand, are facing the
strongest enemy that England has ever known, stronger than the Spain
which threatened England in the days of Elizabeth, stronger than the
France of Joan of Arc or of Napoleon. The greatness of England is
mirrored throughout the works of Shakespeare. It is fitting that at
such a crisis in the history of England the nation should be called upon
to remember the truest, the most complete Englishman, not only of the
Elizabethan Period, but of our own England, our own Empire, and our
relations in the United States of America ; the England, not only of
ourselves, but of our children and our children's children to the end
of time.

LIONEL CUST.

104 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

, 1916

Now when the sinking Sun reeketh with blood,
And the gore-gushing vapours rent by him
Rend him and bury him : now the World is dim
As when great thunders gather for the flood,
And in the darkness men die where they stood,
And dying slay, or scattered limb from limb
Cease in a flash where mad-eyed cherubim
Of Death destroy them in the night and mud :
When landmarks vanish — murder is become
A glory — cowardice, conscience — and to lie,
A law — to govern, but to serve a time : —
We dying, lifting bloodied eyes and dumb,
Behold the silver star serene on high,
That is thy spirit there, O Master Mind sublime.

RONALD Ross.

March 22, 1916.

W. H. DAVIES 105

SHAK£SPEAT{E

THINKING of my caged birds indoors,
My books, whose music serves my will ;

Which, when I bid them sing, will sing,
And when I sing myself are still ;

And that my scent is drops of ink,
Which, were my song as great as I,

Would sweeten man till he was dust,
And make the world one Araby ;

Thinking how my hot passions make
Strong floods of shallows that run cold —

Oh how I burn to make my dreams

Lighten and thunder through the world !

W. H. DAVIES,

io6 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

SHAK£SPEAT(E <AND THE ENGLISH

LANGUAGE

IT is commonly acknowledged that the two literary influences that
have had the most to do with the development of the English language
are Shakespeare and the Bible. Which of these influences has been the
more powerful it would not be easy to determine. But even if it be true
that the foremost place in this respect must be given to the Bible, this
does not imply that the contribution of the whole body of the translators
to the formation of the language has surpassed or equalled in amount or
importance that of the one poet. The English language does indeed
owe many felicitous innovations to the genius of these men — above all,
to the sagaciously directed industry of Tindale and the poetic instinct
of Coverdale ; yet the addition which the Bible has made to the
resources of the language is only in very small part to be ascribed
to them. Even if the translators had possessed no qualifications beyond
a knowledge of Hebrew and Greek, and the most ordinary degree of
skill in the use of their own language, their work would have none the
less abounded in transplanted Oriental idioms and metaphors ; and
these would still have found their way, enriched in meaning by their
sacred associations, into the common speech of Englishmen. The
indebtedness of the English language to the Bible is indeed enormous ;
but by far the heavier part of the debt is owed, not to the translators,
but to the Hebrew and Greek originals. Nor must we — though it is
difficult to keep the two things apart — confound the influence of the
Bible on our language with its influence on our literature. It has been
a priceless advantage to English literature that our writers have usually
known their Bible well, and were able to trust their readers to recognize
an allusion to it. But while this allusive use of the Bible means a great
enrichment of the resources of effective literary expression at the dis
posal of English writers, it is in the main the literature and not the
language that has been the gainer ; except in so far as expressions that
were originally allusive have gained a currency in which their source
is no longer constantly recognized.

HENRY BRADLEY 107

All this has to be borne in mind if we are to estimate correctly the
share of Shakespeare in the making of the English language, as compared
with that of the translators of the Bible. We must remember that what
he gave to his native tongue he gave of his own. Setting aside, as we
ought in this connexion, the multitude of Shakespearian allusions in
daily proverbial use which owe all their effect to the suggestion of the
context, there are not a few of the poet's turns of phrase that may fairly
be said to have become idioms of the language, being continually used
without even a thought that they must have had some definite literary
origin. Even when we are familiar with the passages of the plays in
which they occur, it often suddenly strikes us that we have overlooked
some peculiar appropriateness in their place, which proves that they
were there used for the first time. Such are 'a tower of strength1',
c coign of vantage ', * household words ', ' in my heart's core ', * the head
and front ', ' yeoman service ', * curled darlings ', * to out-Herod Herod ',
* metal more attractive ', * a palpable hit ', * to the manner born ', * pomp
and circumstance ', ' made of sterner stuff ', * the melting mood '. Many
peculiar shades of meaning of ordinary words, which would otherwise
be hard to account for, have been traced to reminiscences, not always
accurate, of passages of Shakespeare in which the use of the word, if
not quite normal, is at least well within the limits of poetic licence.
In Shakespeare's hands the language is strangely ductile ; he continually
uses words in novel extended senses which, when defined with the
pedantic rigour inevitable in a dictionary, seem strained or faulty, but
which one feels to need no justification when they are read in their con
text. Some of his metaphorical uses, such as the application of the word
canopy to the sky, have so taken root in the language that it is not easy
to realize how audacious they must have seemed to the first readers.

It is needless to dwell on Shakespeare's well-known prodigality
and felicity in the invention of compound words. What has not been
so commonly observed is his fertility in the formation of new words by
means of suffixes and prefixes, and by the conversion of verbs into nouns

1 Shakespeare's sentence, 'The king's name is a tower of strength ' (Rich. Ill, V. iii. 12),
looks like a reminiscence of Proverbs xviii. 10, which if literally translated from the Hebrew
would read, ' The name of the Lord is a tower of strength '. The curious thing is that no
English translation has the literal rendering in this passage. The Douay version has it in
Psalm lx[i]. 3, following the turris fortitudinis of the Vulgate; but the Douay Bible is
much later than Shakespeare's use of the phrase. One is tempted to imagine that
Shakespeare must somewhere have seen a literal translation of the passage in Proverbs^
and have been struck with the felicity of the expression. The proverbial currency of the
phrase certainly seems to be due to Shakespeare, not to the Bible.

io8 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

or of nouns into verbs. It is true that many of these formations failed to
be adopted by others, or have become obsolete ; but many still survive.
So far as the evidence goes, he may have been the first user of the words
changeful, gloomy, courtship. The list of words now familiar in literary
use for which he is the earliest known authority would be of considerable
length, and would for most people contain some startling surprises. One
might expect to find in it such words as cerements, illume, but certainly
not denote, depositary, impartial, investment. It can hardly be supposed
that Shakespeare was the first writer to employ these words ; but the
fact that no earlier examples can be quoted does show his eagerness to
avail himself of any useful innovations in vocabulary. The same point
may be illustrated by the large number of words for which the first
known instance is only a few years older than the date of their occurrence
in his works. His linguistic usage, one might say, always looks forward
rather than backward. For archaism as such he had, to all appearance,
no liking. Hardly anywhere in his writings (the * Gower ' prologues in
Pericles are probably not his) is there ground for suspecting any intention
to revive obsolete words or forms. He seems to have been similarly
uninterested in English rustic dialect, which is rather surprising when
we consider the evident relish with which he reproduces the comicalities
of the speech of Welshmen. Although it had long been an established
custom on the stage that countrymen should be represented as speaking
what was supposed to be their native dialect, Shakespeare puts this
conventional jargon only into the mouth of the disguised noble ; the
actual rustics in the plays speak ordinary English.

Popular manuals of English literature usually contain some state
ment as to the number of words composing the vocabulary of Shake
speare's plays and poems. The estimates vary between fifteen thousand
and twenty-four thousand words. I have never met with any account
of the methods by which any of these conflicting results have been
arrived at, nor do I know who is responsible for any of them. The
question of the numerical compass of the poet's vocabulary cannot from
any point of view be said to be of great importance, but as a matter of
curiosity there are probably many who would be glad to see it authori
tatively settled. It is certainly quite capable of being settled ; no very
extravagant expenditure of time would be required to count accurately
the words registered in Bartlett's Concordance to Shakespeare. It is true
that the task would demand some degree of trained skill and constant
watchfulness, as Mr. Bartlett's method of arrangement is about as
inconvenient as possible for the purpose of such an enumeration.

HENRY BRADLEY 109

There would, besides, often be no little difficulty in deciding what
ought to be considered as a * word '. The verbal nouns in -ing, for
instance, and the participial adjectives, could hardly be brought under
a fixed rule. Some of these formations have an unmistakable claim
to a separate place in the list, while others it would be absurd to count
as distinct from their verbs ; but with regard to very many of them
there would be room for doubt. A similar difficulty would arise in the
treatment of the compound words of the poet's own invention. Still,
if the counting were intelligently done, the margin of uncertainty in
the result might, after all, not be very great. Probably sooner or later
somebody will be found willing to take the trouble to make an exhaustive
enumeration of Shakespeare's words. In the meantime, it may be
pointed out that Onions 's Shakespeare Glossary contains about ten
thousand words ; and as that work deals only with such words as call
for some kind of comment, it seems reasonable to infer that the complete
vocabulary would extend to double that number. There appears to be
no reason to doubt the correctness of the common belief that the English
poet who surpasses all others in the skilful use of words also ranks first
in the number of the words that he has pressed into his service.

HENRY BRADLEY.

no A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

INVENTOR OF LANGUAGE

SHAKESPEARE excelled all predecessors, contemporaries, or succes
sors in his role of inventor of language. A magical faculty of expression
was habitual to him, whereby word and thought fitted one another to
perfection. The imaginative splendour of his diction, and its stirring
harmonies, are commonly as noticeable as the impressiveness of the ideas.
Yet often we are magnetized by the luminous simplicity of the phrase,
by the absence of ornament, by the presence of a graphic directness and
force which draw from all readers or hearers an instinctive recognition.
They realize that the thought or feeling could be rightly expressed in no
other way, although they are conscious at the same time that it is a way
that is beyond their power to reach unaided. It is because Shakespeare
has said superlatively well what so many think and feel, but cannot say
with his apposite vigour, that so many of his simpler phrases have
become household words, the idioms of our daily speech. Indeed, there
is some value in the comparison which has been drawn between the
English language to-day and a modern city of Italy, into the walls of
whose palaces and into the pavements of whose streets have been worked
fragments of the marble grandeur of the old Roman Empire. The
tessellated fragments of many-coloured stone suggest the opalescent
relics of Shakespearian language mortised into our common speech.

II

Of Shakespeare's boldness in inventing new sonorous terms of
foreign derivation, many instances could be given, but none more
impressive than that familiar passage in Macbeth, when Macbeth, in his
agony at the sight of Duncan's blood on his hand, cries out :

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
Making the green one red.

SIDNEY LEE

No one before had thought of such expressions as the epithet
multitudinous or the verb incarnadine. Incarnadine of course means
to colour with red dye ; it is not perhaps a word that circumstances often
require, and it did not find general admission to the language. But its
companion multitudinous served a wider purpose, and is with us all still.

Ill

Shakespeare's gifts to our daily speech may be classified in three
divisions : (i) sentences of his devising which now enjoy proverbial
currency, (2) brief phrases of two or three words, and finally (3) com
mon single words, including epithets compounded of more words than
one. All the examples which I cite are undisputed coinage of the
dramatist's brain and pen.

There are several speeches in great scenes, of which wellnigh
every syllable has, in one or other of these three shapes, been absorbed
by our daily utterance. Let me quote one such passage : Othello's
last speech. Who is not familiar with wellnigh every sentence in
a hundred connexions which involve issues of current life altogether
detached from the original setting ?

I have done the state some service,
And they know it. No more of that . . .
Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate,
Nor set down aught in malice: then must you speak
Of one who loved not wisely but too well.

Sentences of Shakespeare's which have passed into proverbs
include many such as these :

' The better part of valour is discretion.'

* Brevity is the soul of wit.'

* Assume a virtue if you have it not.'

' The course of true love never did run smooth.'

' Every why hath a wherefore.'

1 Though this be madness, there is method in it.'

1 Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all.'

Perhaps the isolated phrases which our speech owes to Shakespeare
bring home to us most emphatically the figurative picturesqueness with
which he has endowed our lips in the casual business of life. Here are
a few :

* In my mind's eye.'

* More in sorrow than in anger.'

ii2 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

' The primrose path.'
4 A thing of shreds and patches.'
The milk of human kindness.'

* A ministering angel.'

* A towering passion.'

* A man more sinned against than sinning.'

* Every inch a king.'

* A divided duty.'

* A foregone conclusion.'

* Pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war.'

* Give us a taste of your quality ' and ' Pluck the heart out of my
mystery ' are two of many sentences of which the main words are woven
into the universal verbal web.

It is worthy of remark that all these arresting phrases which mingle
with our daily breath come from Shakespeare's tragedies ; from Hamlet,
Lear, Othello, or Macbeth. The public intelligence has thus instinc
tively recognized where Shakespeare's genius soared to its highest
pitch.

All such phrases illustrate Shakespeare's peculiar power of infusing
into words which hitherto only bore a literal sense, a new figurative
significance which they have since retained. When the dramatist
wrote ' cold comfort ', or * hollow friendship ', he gave proof of this
marvellous power of turning physical conceptions to imaginative or
poetic account.

Single words which we owe to Shakespeare's verbal ingenuity
are equally memorable. He had no narrow prejudices against foreign
terms which served his purpose. At times he did not trouble to angli
cize a foreign formation. He left it to the future to complete the
naturalizing process. Such seems to be the history of the words bandit,
barricade, renegade, and hurricane. These words Shakespeare intro
duced into the language in the foreign forms of bandetto, barricado,
renegado, hurricano. Some of his verbal gifts to us which are framed
on onomatopoeic principles perpetuate, it would seem, sudden flashes
of verbal inspiration. Such seem to be dwindle, hurry, bump, gibber,
whiz. More imposing inventions, which involve greater intellectual
effort, are moral (of a fable), fallacy, libertine, and any number of
illuminating epithets ; for example, ominous, jovial, inauspicious.

SIDNEY LEE n3

IV

One mode of forming new epithets was an invention of Shake
speare's contemporaries and no device of his own peculiar coinage.
But Shakespeare adopted and developed it with such fertility that he
may well claim the honour of having taught to future ages its picturesque
efficacy. I refer to his constant employment of the double epithet,
whereby he clad ideas of some complexity in an original verbal garb,
uniting charm with clarity. Homer knew the practice, but after his
time it disappeared from civilized speech ; not to be revived till experi
ment was made again with it by the French poets of the sixteenth
century. Sir Philip Sidney, first of Englishmen to employ the device,
deliberately borrowed it from France, and Edmund Spenser made trial
of it under Sidney's influence. But Shakespeare was the English poet
to discover the full potentialities of such word-formation, and many
of his composite inventions rank with our most important and most
impressive verbal debts to him. None before Shakespeare employed
such epithets as snow-white, milk-white, tear-stained, cold-blooded,
crest-fallen, down-trodden, low-spirited, heart-burning, ill-favoured,
hollow-eyed, hot-blooded, heart-whole, home-bred, well-proportioned,
eventful.

Like combinations enjoy less colloquial currency and rank with
the more select idioms which flourish in the narrower circles of literary
culture. Such are fancy-free, trumpet-tongued, cloud-capped, silver-
sweet, honey-heavy, sleek-headed, mouth-honour, heaven-kissing.

, Many less dignified methods of forming compound words were in
vogue in Shakespeare's time, and there was no current kind of verbal
experiment to which he did not lend a hand. To his inventiveness on
the duplicating principle which made at the moment so strong a
popular appeal, we owe off-hand colloquialisms like handy-dandy,
helter-skelter, hugger-mugger, skimble-skamble.

Shakespeare's contemporaries, not himself, can claim the parental
honours in the cognate cases of higgledy-piggledy, and, I believe,
riff-raff.

n4 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

VI

So penetrating is the Shakespearian influence on our language,
such a hold has his phraseology on the popular as well as on the culti
vated ear, that much of his phraseology has been absorbed by our
unwritten, our non-literary, talk of the street.

* Cudgel thy brains.'

* I know a trick worth two of that.*

* Very like a whale.'

* Too much of a good thing ' — are among Shakespeare's contri
butions to the vernacular which are often characterized as illiterate.
The popular use of ' bounce ', in the sense of boastful falsehood, is one
of Shakespeare's numerous verbal innovations, which are generally
reckoned more forcible than polite.

Thus I claim that Shakespeare ranks as national hero by virtue
(among other achievements) of the vast expansion he effected in the
scope of our national diction. Educated and uneducated alike have
benefited by his genius for graphic neologisms. Territorial expansion
scarcely fosters a nation's intellectual vigour more signally than a widen
ing of its command of expressive speech, which ennobles the lips, and
both clarifies and broadens thought.

SIDNEY LEE.

HERBERT TRENCH 115

IF many a daring spirit must discover
The chartless world, why should they glory lack ?
Because athwart the skyline they sank over,
Few, few, the shipmen be that have come back.

Yet one, wrecked oft, hath by a giddy cord

The rugged head of Destiny regained,

Who from the maelstrom's lap hath swum aboard —

Who from the polar sleep himself unchain'd.

And he, acquainted well with every tone
Of madness whining in his shroudage slender,
From storm and mutiny emerged alone,
Self-righted from the dreadful self-surrender :

Rich from the isles where sojourn long is death,
Won back to cool Thames and Elizabeth,
Sea- weary, yes, but human still, and whole —
A circumnavigator of the soul.

HERBERT TRENCH,

I 2

n6 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

THE SHADOW OF THE MASTER

1916

CRIMSON was the twilight, under that crab-tree
Where — old tales tell us — all a midsummer's night,
A mad young poacher, drunk with mead of elfin-land,
Lodged with the fern-owl, and looked at the stars.

There, from the dusk, where the dream of Piers Plowman
Darkens on the sunrise, to this dusk of our own,
I read, in a history, the record of our world.

The hawk-moth, the currant-moth, the red-striped tiger-moth
Shimmered all around me, so white shone those pages ;
And, in among the blue boughs, the bats flew low.

I slumbered, the history slipped from my hand,
Then I saw a dead man, dreadful in the moon-dawn,
The ghost of the Master, bowed upon that book.

He muttered as he searched it, — What vast convulsion
Mocks my sexton's curse now, shakes our English clay ?
Whereupon I told him, and asked him in turn
Whether he espied any light in those pages
Which painted an epoch later than his own.

I am a shadow, he said, and I see none.
I am a shadow, he said, and I see none.

ALFRED NOYES 117

Then, O then he murmured to himself (while the moon hung
Crimson as a lanthorn of Cathay in that crab-tree),
Laughing at his work and the world, as I thought,
Yet with some bitterness, yet with some beauty
Mocking his own music, these wraiths of his rhymes ;

II
God, when I turn the leaves of that dark book

Wherein our wisest teach us to recall
Those glorious flags which in old tempests shook

And those proud thrones which held my youth in thrall ;

When I see clear what seemed to childish eyes

The glorious colouring of each pictured age ;
And for their dominant tints now recognize

How thumbed with innocent blood is every page ;

O, then I know this world is fast asleep

Bound in Time's womb, till some far morning break ;
And, though light grows upon the dreadful deep,

We are dungeoned in thick night. We are not awake.

The world 's unborn, for all our hopes and schemes ;
And all its myriads only move in dreams.

Ill

// was a crimson twilight, under that crab-tree.
Moths beat about me, and bats flew low.
I read, in a history, the record of our world.

Ij there be light, said the Master,
/ am a shadow, and I see none . . .

/ am a shadow, and I see none.

ALFRED NOYES.

n8 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

THE MAKING OF SHAKESPEAT(E

DAME NATURE on a Holiday bethought her of a plan,
To mix new elements and clay, and make a proper man.

She knew the fine rare dust to seek in England's central shire,
Brought dew from red Parnassus' peak on dawning cloud of fire :
With fingers deft she did them knead in young Adonis' form,
Of Saxon and of Norman breed, with British strain to warm.

His ears were shells from mystic beach, which taught him what to hear ;
She kept the lightning for his speech, to make foul airs grow clear ;
She for his eyes found sunbeams rare, to see by their own light ;
And hid some stars amid his hair, to guide his steps aright.

She took the West Wind from the main, for breath so soft and deep ;
She made the North Wind sweep his brain, it keen and clear to keep ;
She let the South Wind bathe his heart to make it warm and true ;
She would not use the East Wind's art, so shrewd and snell it blew,
But called a breeze down from the sky to purify his soul,
And left it to be guarded by a conscience firm and whole.

(St. George had come to earth that year the Dragon's brood to fight;1
He struck upon his shield his spear, and waked the babe to light.)

She, like a kind godmother, cared to make his training sound ;
Found him a home where well he fared with relatives around ;
Gave him a mother wise and brave, and a right merry sire,
A learned pedagogue she gave, and then — his Heart's Desire.

1 It was a Plague year.

CHARLOTTE CARMICHAEL STOPES u9

II

Dame Fortune her misfortunes rained as jealous for her play,
And she his Having all distrained, and took his means away,
With iron chains she fettered him, loaded with heavy weight,
Plunged in strange tides to sink or swim, and left him to his fate.

He did not sink, but bravely fought 'gainst storm and wind and tide ;
Impediments ashore he brought, and poverty defied.
When on the stony shore he stood he bore down Fortune's taint,
And fought again the Dragon's brood, like to his patron saint.

Dame Nature smiled again, content, her gifts so well bestowed,
And she her own White Magic lent, to lighten still his load.
He learned the speech of beast and bird, men, women, angels, stars ;
The love-lore of the past he heard, and fought in ancient wars.
She gave him power to make them live, to teach men's eyes to see,
And beauty, goodness, truth, to give in Music's poesy.

Men recognized Dame Nature's cheer, seen in her darling's power ;
They envied, blamed, praised, loved, and clear his stars shone on his hour.
Creator of full many a c part ', and maker of his stage,
He thus became the soul and heart, — th' expresser of his age.

And what three hundred years ago was made, doth still endure,
Having a life within to glow and prove his genius sure.
If then he was so greatly graced, now his perennial pow'r
Hath on his brow new glory placed, * the Present ' still his Hour.
Nothing so great hath risen between, to dwarf him to our eyes :
The grandest bard our race hath seen, so let our paeans rise,
And * Hail to William Shakespeare ! ' cry, our comfort, our delight,
* Our treasury, our armoury, our champion, and our knight ! '

CHARLOTTE CARMICHAEL STOPES.

120 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT

THERE are certain pieces of evidence bearing on the personal
character of Shakespeare which I observe that my old friend Sir Sidney
Lee, in the new edition of his monumental biography, does not put to
the poet's account. A biographer who has to hold the scales between
popular hero-worship and partisan detraction in the interest of some
eccentric hypothesis, may be excused if he assume the port of Rhada-
manthus. But the rank and file of us need not put so much constraint
on our instincts. If the evidence in question is good enough, if it fits
in with the mental picture we have formed of the dramatist from his
plays, and is not inconsistent with contemporary testimony, we shall
incline to accept it, giving the great man the benefit of any doubt.

There are two passages which I have chiefly in mind : of one I can
speak quite shortly ; the other will require a closer investigation. The
first is the newly discovered scrap of information about Shakespeare's
social habits which Aubrey apparently derived from the actor William
Beeston, whose father was with Shakespeare in the Lord Chamberlain's
company. An account of the page of rough notes on which this entry
was found, together with a facsimile here reproduced, was contributed
to The Collections of the Malone Society (i. 324) by Mr. E. K. Chambers.
Mr. Madan, Bodley's Librarian, whom Sir Sidney Lee quotes as refer
ring the entry to Fletcher, has since made a thorough investigation of
the way in which this page of notes was put together, and has convinced
himself that the entry refers to Shakespeare. As Sir George Warner
also agrees, it is not necessary to argue this point further. It must also,
I think, be allowed that Mr. Chambers gives the only possible tran
scription of the passage :

the more to be admired q. [i.e. qtiod, because] he was not a company keeper, | lived
in Shoreditch, would not be debauched, and if invited to | writ : he was in paine.

Sir Sidney Lee reads * if invited to write, he was in paine ' ; but the
word is unmistakably * writ ' followed by a colon, and the omission of
the stop after * invited to ' at the end of the line is paralleled by other

Bodleian Aubrey MS. 8, fol. 45V

H. C. BEECHING 121

examples on the same page. The word * debauched ' must be under
stood in its general Elizabethan use of excess in eating or drinking,
especially the latter ; as when Trinculo calls Caliban * a deboshed fish '
because he had * drowned his tongue in sack '.

Taking it then as certain that Aubrey's rough note refers to Shake
speare, and that it testifies to his disinclination to drinking parties, the
interesting question arises how it is to be reconciled with the other note
about his social habits which we also owe to Aubrey : * He was very
good company, and of a very ready and pleasant smooth wit.' This
tradition we instinctively accept ; and support it by the passage in
Fuller's Worthies, which must be based on tradition also, about the
* wit-combats ' between Shakespeare and Ben Jonson ; which are
assumed, not unreasonably, to have taken place at the Mermaid. Shake
speare, then, was ' very good company ' and yet ' not a company-
keeper '. It may have been the superficial inconsistency between the
two traditions which led Aubrey not to add the latter note to the former
in his * brief life ' of Shakespeare ; or of course the omission may have
been due to mere oversight. However this was, the inconsistency is
explained if we remember that the newly discovered tradition comes
from an actor. There must have been merry-makings of actors and
their patrons, where the wine would be more than the wit ; and we may
judge that it was from such parties as these that Shakespeare was in
the habit of excusing himself on the ground of indisposition. We
certainly get an impression from certain passages in the plays that their
writer felt a disgust for drunkenness : at least we may reasonably
doubt, if Ben Jonson had written Hamlet and had cast about for a topic of
conversation on the battlements of Elsinore while waiting for the ghost,
whether he would have stopped the gap with a temperance lecture.

A second point in which I would claim for Shakespeare the benefit
of the doubt is as to the part played by him in the attempted enclosure
of the common fields of Welcombe in 1614. Our information comes
from a rough diary kept by Shakespeare's cousin Thomas Greene, who
was at the time Town Clerk of Stratford. This diary was reproduced
in facsimile with a transcript in 1885, but as only fifty copies were
printed it is but little known. The story of the proposed enclosure
is told at greater or less length, and, I must add, with more or less in
accuracy, by the various biographers ; with most detail by Mrs. Stopes
in Shakespeare's Environment^ pp. 81-91, 336-42. It would seem that
two young gentlemen of the house of Combe, nephews of Shakespeare's
friend, John Combe, made up their minds to enclose part of the common

122 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

fields, and were supported in their scheme by a very influential person,
Mr. Mannering, steward of the Lord Chancellor, who was officially
lord of the royal manor of Stratford. A very general motive for en
closure in those days was better farming, because, as the land in these
common fields was owned in strips of an acre, or half an acre, a good
farmer might find himself next to a very bad one, and his land suffer
in consequence. That the system has been discarded in England is
some proof that it had great practical disadvantages. We may con
jecture that, as the Chancellor was said to approve the scheme,1 it was not
without its recommendations ; and Greene, in his diary, notes a saying
of Mr. Mannering that ' if he might not do it well, he cared not for
enclosing, and cared not how little he did meddle therein '. A more
particular motive for enclosure was generally the wish for some reason
to lay down the arable land in pasture. We are told that the increase
of arable through the reclamation of waste land in the north of Warwick
shire had led to a demand for more pasture in the south ; 2 and it was
the declared intention of the Combes to convert some 200 acres into
pasture. Such enclosures were always unpopular, as they reduced the
demand for labour. Seven years before, there had been disturbances
at Hill Morton in the east of the county, where 3,000 persons assembled,
and systematically laid open the enclosed lands. In the present case,
the proposal to enclose was resisted by the Town Council of Stratford,
on the special ground that the tithes upon the * corn and grain * had
been assigned by Edward VI, in their charter of incorporation, for the
maintenance of the vicar, the town bridge, grammar school, and alms-
houses ; and that the recent fire had so impoverished the town that
they could not consent to such a diminution of the tithes as must accom
pany the proposed enclosure. There seems no doubt that the Combes
at first intended to buy out the commoners and ignore the wishes of
the Corporation. Their agent Replingham told Thomas Greene that
* he cared not for their consents '. But when the opposition grew, and
the Corporation presented a petition both to the Privy Council in London
and to the Chief Justice (who was the great lawyer Coke) at the local
Assizes, William Combe sent them a letter3 making various alternative

1 Mr. Elton notes that Lord Chancellor Ellesmere in this very year had decreed enclo
sures to be for the public advantage (William Shakespeare, his family and friends, p. 148).

2 Common Land and Inclosure, by E. C. K. Conner, p. 147.

3 The letter, dated 24 June, 1616, is printed in the Appendix to Ingleby's edition
of Greene's Diary, and it is surprising that none of the biographers think it worth notice.
One of Combe's proposals was to give the Corporation the amount of the tithe * in yearly
rent to be paid out of any land I have '.

H. C. BEECHING 123

offers of compensation for the tithe they would lose on the land enclosed ;
proposals which, on paper, certainly appear equitable ; but the town,
we must suppose for sufficient reason, declined them all.

The only question that matters to us to-day is the view Shakespeare
took of the transaction. His own holding of about 120 acres, not being
in the Welcombe field, was not affected by the proposal. But he was
one of a syndicate which had bought a lease of the tithes ; and the throw
ing of the land out of tillage would mean a serious loss ; for his income
from the tithes on the land converted to pasture would cease, unless an
arrangement were made for tithing the stock. Meanwhile the bargain
with the Corporation would have to be kept, and there were twenty-
two years of the lease still to run. Accordingly the first thing we
hear is that Shakespeare entered into an agreement with the Combes*
agent Replingham to assure him, and also his cousin Thomas Greene,
against loss * thro* the decreasing of the yearly value of the tithes
by reason of the decay of tillage '. Whether the other members of
the syndicate made similar agreements, we do not know : Greene,
from whom all our information comes, is not concerned with them.
Can we see then what was Shakespeare's attitude to the proposed
enclosure ? Both Halliwell- Phillips and Sir Sidney Lee are of opinion
that he, at least tacitly, supported the Combes. In such a course there
would have been nothing unworthy if he knew that they proposed to
make good to the town the loss of the tithes when the lease fell in, as
they would certainly have been compelled to do by the Privy Council ;
but, since the Corporation definitely declared against the scheme, to
support it would have been unpatriotic. The relevant passages from
Greene's diary are the following :

1 7 No : My Cosen Shakespeare commy ng yesterday to towne I went to see him howe
he did, he told me that they assured him they meant to inclose noe further than to gospell
bushe and so upp straight (leavying out part of the dyngles to the ffield) to the gate in
Clopton hedge and take in Salisburyes peece : and that they mean in Aprill to servey the
Land and then to gyve satisfaccion and not before and he and Mr. Hall say they think there
will be nothying done at all.

This conversation occurred in November 1614, when Greene was in
London about the business of the Corporation's petition to the Privy
Council. At this stage Shakespeare and his son-in-law Dr. Hall give
it as their opinion that the Combes will drop their proposal in face of
the opposition it has aroused.

23 Dec. A Hall. Lettres wrytten one to Mr. Mannerying another to Mr. Shakspeare
with almost all the companyes hands to eyther : I alsoe wrytte of myself to my Cosen
Shakspeare the coppyes of all our oathes [?] made then, alsoe a not(e) of the Inconvenyences
V old g(row) by the Inclosure.

124 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

The letter to Mannering alone has been preserved. It sets forth the
' good and godly uses and intents ' to which the tithes were allotted in
the charter of incorporation, and describes in pathetic terms the destitu
tion which had fallen through recent fires on the town, * where lyve above
seaven hundred poore which receave Almes, whose curses and clamours
Wilbee day lie poured out to god against the interp risers of such a thinge '.
Whether either Mannering or Shakespeare replied, or, if they did, to
what effect, Greene does not tell us ; but we have no right to presume
silence.

Sept. [1615] W. Shakespeares tellying J. Greene that I was not able to beare the
encloseinge of Welcombe.

This is the darkest of all the dark sentences in Greene's hastily
scribbled diary, as it is the most interesting. J. Greene was a brother.
It seems unnecessary that Shakespeare should have told J. Greene
a fact about his brother which, if it were a fact, he must have known
better than ' cosen Shakespeare ', and doubly unnecessary that Thomas
Greene should have made a note of it. But the fact is highly question
able. All through the diary there are scattered evidences that, while
Greene acted with perfect loyalty to his Council, he was not himself averse
to the project of enclosure. On January 9, 1615, there is the report of
a long conversation between Greene and somebody whose name he has
forgotten to give, probably Combe himself, in which Greene is promised
ten pounds to buy a gelding, if he would propound a peace ; the course
suggested being a friendly suit which Greene was to urge Sir Henry
Raynsford to propose. Greene demurred on the ground that Sir Henry
would say that the suggestion came from him, and such a motion would
be taken as * too favourable ' to the scheme of enclosure, * I knowing
their fixed resolutions '. Clearly, therefore, Greene had no such * fixed
resolutions ' himself. He continues : ' I told him yt was known that
he was here, and that I thought I did nothing but both sydes heard of
yt ; and therefore I caryed myself as free from all offence as I could ; I
told him I would do yt before Wednesday night to some of the principall
of them ; ' and he notes in the margin : * I did yt the same night at
their commyng downe to me anon after, viz. Mr. Bayly, Mr. Baker,
Mr. Walford, Mr. Chandler/ As Mr. Bayly is the Bailiff, there was nothing
underhand in Greene's conduct, but it is impossible to represent
the most honourable of go-betweens as a strong anti-enclosure man.
Sir Sidney Lee thinks that * Shakespeare's new statement amounted to
nothing more than a reassertion of the continued hostility of Thomas

H. C. BEECHING 125

Greene to William Combe's nefarious purpose '. I should reply first
that the purpose was in no way * nefarious ', for the * friendly suit '
referred to above implied compensation to be fixed by the court ; and
secondly that Greene's ' hostility ' is contradicted by his own very
clear evidence. He adds : * Those who wish to regard Shakespeare as
a champion of popular rights have endeavoured to interpret the " I " in
" I was not able " as " he ", but palaeographers only recognize the
reading " I ".' But here it must be pointed out that the learned judge
has not got all the facts on his notes. The palaeographer who edited
the facsimile of Greene's diary, the late Dr. C. M. Ingleby, pointed out
in his preface that Greene had a queer habit of writing * I ' when he
meant * he ' ; and * he ' when he meant * I ' ; sometimes correcting
his blunder, and sometimes not. He quotes an uncorrected example
from the first page of the diary : * I willed him to learn what / could,
and I told him soe would I.' Rhadamanthus himself would be forced
to admit that the second * I ' here is a mistake for * he '. It must also
be admitted in the other case, unless we prefer to impute to Shakespeare
a want of insight into his cousin's lawyer-like habit of mind, and to
Greene himself a puerile satisfaction in chronicling such a misjudgement.
If Shakespeare backed the Combes, we should have to charge him
with unneighbourliness. But that is precisely the charge which it is so
hard to credit. Dr. Wallace's discovery of his good-natured interest
in the affairs of the son-in-law of the Huguenot tire-maker with whom
he lodged in 1604, points in the opposite direction ; and so does an
incident to which Mrs. Stopes first called attention, which is chronicled
in the very next entry in Greene's diary to that under discussion.

5 Sept. his sendyng James for the executours of Mr. Barber to agre as ys sayd with them
for Mr. Barbers interest.

Mrs. Stopes discovered that this Barber had been harried, possibly to
death, by the Combes * about a debt he stood surety for Mris Quyney '.
Sir Sidney Lee here comments : ' Shakespeare would seem to have
been benevolently desirous of relieving Barber's estate from the pressure
which Combe was placing upon it.' I think then we have good reason
to plead for the benefit of the doubt in the matter of the enclosure.

H. C. BEECHING.

126 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

THE UNff01{LDLINESS OF

HAMLET and King Lear have a peculiar quality of unworldliness
not to be found in other plays of Shakespeare. This unworldliness is
expressed not only in words, though they express it often enough, but
in the very conduct of the play. It shows itself even in a curious in
difference to dramatic success, an indifference that is certainly not mere
failure. In both plays Shakespeare is writing at the height of his powers,
and writing, as usual, instinctively for the stage. But, except at the
opening of each play, he is beyond aiming at dramatic effect. Rather
he uses the dramatic form, with a skill that has become unconscious,
to reveal states of the soul ; and, when he has attained to the revelation
of these, he seems to forget the practical business of the drama. In both
plays all his dramatic contrivance is used to reach a certain situation as
swiftly as possible ; but when it is reached the rest of the play consists
of variations upon it, in which the soul of Hamlet or Lear is laid bare.
In most plays we watch to see what will happen next, but at the height
of Hamlet and King Lear this anxiety about the course of events ceases ;
the dramatic action seems to fade away and the material conflict to be
stilled, so that we may see souls independent of time and place. Hamlet
and Lear are terribly beset by circumstances ; but, when they are most
beset, they escape into a solitude of their own minds where we are alone
with them and overhear their innermost secrets. Then the dramatic
action seems to have had no object except to lead them into this solitude,
where speech becomes thought, and there are no longer any events
except those of the soul.

There is a point in King Lear where the theme of the play seems
to be released from the material conflict and to rise suddenly into
music. It is where Lear enters with Cordelia as a prisoner and cries :

We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage.

To himself he is alone with Cordelia, and he has learnt at last in the

A. CLUTTON-BROCK 127

innocence of his madness to enter into a heaven of intimacy with her,
where he can laugh at the world like a blessed spirit —

Laugh

At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues
Talk of court news ; and we'll talk with them too,
Who loses and who wins ; who 's in, who 's out ;
And take upon 's the mystery of things,
As if we were God's spies : and we'll wear out
In a wall'd prison, packs and sets of great ones
That ebb and flow by the moon.

That phrase — * Take upon 's the mystery of things ' — expresses exactly
what seems to happen to Lear and Hamlet when they pass into this
sudden peace at the height of the storm ; and Hamlet himself speaks
not only to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, or of one particular incident,
but to all worldly wisdom, when he says : * You would play upon me ;
you would seem to know my stops ; you would pluck out the heart of
my mystery.' These moments of the soul are not, cannot be, explained
even by the poet himself. This unworldliness, unearthliness even,
attained to through the disaster of an earthly conflict, is something
beyond all analysis, something that we can only parallel in the works
of Dostoevsky, where there is the same use of the story to reveal states
of the soul, the same indifference to dramatic effect and even to the
difficulties of the reader. Hamlet is puzzling, like Dostoevsky's people,
because Shakespeare draws his very soul and not his motives. He is
the most vivid character in all drama, yet we know his motives no more
than we know our own when we are deeply moved. What we do know
is the peculiar quality of his mind, and above all that passionate un
worldliness which makes him so lonely at the court of Denmark that he
cannot find a companion even in the man or the woman that he loves.
He must be always misunderstood there, as he has been misunderstood
ever since ; and this weighs on his mind even when he is dying. His
tragedy is really the tragedy of loneliness, and his seeming madness
is the exasperation of loneliness, which always becomes most intense
when he is with worldly people and stung by some proof of their mis
understanding. We may be sure that in it Shakespeare expressed the
exasperation of his own loneliness, which he must have felt as soon as
success lost its freshness for him. He could not content himself, even,
with the success of the artist, of brilliant plays like Henry V or As You
Like It. So he turned from the world with a religious longing for escape,
which, being a poet, he could find only in his art and, imaginatively, in

128 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

the purged souls of Lear and Cordelia and Hamlet, which are all his own
soul projected imaginatively into the purging of tragedy. These two
plays tell us that he could not consent to a private happiness of this
world, that he took upon himself the mystery of things and the suffering
of infinite possibilities. They tell us, whatever his outward life may
have been, of the far adventures of his soul, through which he reached
these furthest heights of poetry.

A. CLUTTON-BROCK.

MORTON LUCE 129

THE CHAT(ACTER OF SHAKESPEAT{E

As far as I can judge, no greater service can be rendered to Shake
speare, and therefore also to literature, than by some vindication of the
character of our great poet. In a recent book (Shakespeare: the
Man and his Work) I first endeavoured to disprove the theories of those
writers who represent him as long dominated by a degrading passion
for a degraded woman — the * Dark Lady ' of the Sonnets. My critics
kindly gave it as their opinion that I had proved my case — which was
this : * Whether as the lady of the intrigue, or as mere mistress, the
woman has an impossible story, utterly untrustworthy as material for
biography.'

Secondly, inasmuch as religion and ethics are often a twofold
morality of sentiment and practice, I next endeavoured to ascertain
Shakespeare's religious opinions, with the aid chiefly of his Sonnets.
I found that (if I may again quote from Shakespeare : the Man and his
Work) ' however much the phrase may startle our more enlightened
atheism, he was " a God-fearing Christian ' '. In this endeavour also
my critics accounted me successful. On the present occasion I trust
to reinforce my former arguments by a brief examination of the Poems
of Shakespeare.

If nothing had been known about Spenser except that he was the
author of the Faerie Queene (and the same might be said of Milton and
his Comus), we should still have been able to form a reliable estimate
of his ethics and his religious opinions. Now, as it seems to me, the
two poems Venus and Adonis and the Rape of Lucrece will enable any
unbiased reader to form a similar estimate with regard to Shakespeare ;
in other words, that he was, like Spenser, * a God-fearing Christian '.
This I shall at least endeavour to demonstrate.

All criticism is ultimately comparative ; there is no such thing as
inductive criticism. We read these poems, and we say : * Marlowe
among Elizabethans might emulate their beauty and poetic force, but
the spirituality of their vision, the loftiness of their wisdom, he could

K

130 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

not emulate ; under this head we must refer again to Spenser.* Then
we note the description of Lucrece as a * graver labour ' ; this phrase
would hardly have been employed by Marlowe, though it might by the
author of the Foure Hymnes. But even with the corroboration of con
temporary opinion we need not extort from the phrase any undue
significance ; it implies at least that the Venus was a lighter theme,
chosen in some measure to please a patron, and that the later poem,
if not a corrective, would express the poet's weightier convictions. And
of course the poems are in some respects counterparts — the obverse
and reverse of one poetic coin.

Turning now to the Venus, we first examine its motives, all of
which, we may note, are to be found in the Sonnets. There is the
central theme— * When a woman woos ' ; next, the two * patron '
themes of youth and beauty in man, and

Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth beauty;
Thou wast begot; to get it is thy duty;

and of the remaining reflections by far the most important are those that
point to the contrast between love and lust.

This is treated something after the manner of antitheta. First, we
have the arts and arguments of Venus — an ' idle over-handled theme ',
the poet calls it —

1 Love is a spirit all compact of fire . . .'

* Affection is a coal that must be cool'd . . .'

' Make use of time ; let not advantage slip . . .'

' What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss ? . . .'

The seductive yet pernicious doctrine of ' natural ' love —

Love, free as air, at sight of human ties,
Spreads his light wings, and, in a moment, flies—

is more or less deliberately supported by many of our present-day
writers, some of them being of great repute amongst us ; but a greater
than these was Shakespeare. Greater also than these was that other
large-browed Elizabethan, and him I will quote first —

4 Being one, why should not a man be content with one ? '
'As soul and body are one, so man and wife.'
'Wanton love corrupted! and debaseth it (mankind).'

Now let us hear the kindred words of Shakespeare, who, as is most
meet and intelligible, frequently produces or reproduces the wisdom

MORTON LUCE 131

of Francis Bacon, and as frequently refines it and adorns ; so here, in
the reply of Adonis —

And again —

I hate not love, but your device in love,
That lends embracements unto every stranger.

Call it not love, for Love to heaven is fled,
Since sweating Lust on earth usurp'd his name.

There is more — much more — to the same purpose, but I must
pass on to the other poem, the Lucrece. In this also by far the most
important of the reflections insist upon the contrast between love and
lust ; to quote under this head would be to repeat almost half the poem.
Here again is no work of Marlowe ; to him it would be utterly impos
sible ; it is the refined spirit of Spenser, or again (though Spenser was
less fettered by dogma) of Milton. As far as I am aware, the most
striking feature of the poem has not hitherto been recognized ; it is this :
even as the palace of Lucrece is strewn by the author with Elizabethan
rushes, so the pagan theme is saturated with Elizabethan Christianity.
With this Christianity the poet is profoundly imbued, and fearlessly and
naturally he expounds it. In fact, whatever of Christian doctrine or
dogma is wanting in the Sonnets will be found here, and found in an
extraordinary overplus. Even in regard to demonology, wherein the
poet would naturally be on his strictest guard, the Roman Jove is out-
rivalled by the Christian Jehovah.

In this short essay, illustration of every point — indeed, of any but
a very few points — is impossible. I will note here, however, that the
' high almighty Jove ' (cf . Milton's ' all-judging Jove ') invoked by Lucrece
is not easily identified with ' him who gave ' Tarquin his sword where
with to * kill iniquity * ; and that when Tarquin falls to reflecting on
the futility of praying to the * eternal power ' for success in such an
enterprise, and adds, ' The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact/ one
can hardly believe that the reference is to any of ' the gods that Romans
bow before ' ; especially seeing that a line or two later the poet concludes
with this fragment of Christian doctrine :

The blackest sin is cleared with absolution.

In all this we are at least reminded of Bacon's * taking Pluto for the
Devil '.

This, however, shall be a matter of opinion ; but I should like to
quote from one of the less equivocal passages (and there are hundreds

K2

132 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

such), chiefly because it throws strong light on one of the most important
of the Sonnets, namely, the cxLVith. The following is a part of it :

Besides, his soul's fair temple is defaced . . .

And the soul speaks for herself, as follows :

She says, her subjects with foul insurrection
Have batter'd down her consecrated wall,
And by their mortal fault brought in subjection
Her immortality, and made her thrall
To living death and pain perpetual . . .'

Among the many points of comparison between the whole passage
(11. 712-28) and the Sonnet, perhaps the most interesting is the poet's
employment of both the scriptural doctrines in regard to our human
body ; in the Sonnet it is the * vile body * that shall be * destroyed by
worms ' ; for there the poet is speaking — and with a conscientious
modesty — of himself ; but in the poem he gives us the other biblical
doctrine (only adumbrated in the Sonnet) which speaks of the body as
a * temple ', and * holy ', whether as the temple of the Deity or of the
Holy Ghost or as the mansion of the divine-human spirit. The figure
occurs again in Lucrece (1. 1173) :

Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd, corrupted;

and indeed the whole passage (11. 1163-76) in which this line is found
should be read by the side of the former. Notable, for example, among
so much that is noteworthy, is the expression (of the soul) * the other
made divine ' (1. 1164).

Here, though incomplete, I must leave my textual investigation
of the two poems, and turn to another important subject.

It might be urged that these Christian reflections, although they
occur in such a remarkable excess, arise out of the subject ; that they
belong to art, and have no relation to practical life. But the fallacy may
be met in a thousand ways. 'All beauty ', we reply, * is related to life,
and therefore also to morality. Next, a true artist is a man, not a machine,
and as a man his speech bewrayeth him ; whether he will or will not,
you shall know him by his deeds, his emotions, his very thoughts ; aye,
and that intimately. Nor do these reflections arise out of the subject ;
on the contrary, they are foreign to it. You will not find them in the
pages of Ovid ; you would not have found them, we repeat, in the pages
of Marlowe. They are peculiar to Shakespeare, to Spenser, Sidney,

MORTON LUCE

133

Raleigh — that is, to the spiritually-minded Elizabethan. Religious
opinions, I may add, like political opinions, are an obsession that may
even imperil the creations of the artist/

But for a moment I will abandon whatever isolated evidence may be
afforded by these two poems, and bring in a wider argument. It is the
main argument of the book referred to above — Shakespeare : the Man
and his Work — namely this, that we must judge Shakespeare only by what
is habitual, only by prevailing tendencies. If I were asked to mention
the most persistent of the various elements of Shakespeare's moral
philosophy, I should reply unhesitatingly, * this contrast between love
and lust '. His doctrine may be thus stated : * Unlawful passion is a
vice, a torture, and loathsome, and it goes by the name of lust ; whereas
lawful passion is a virtue, a delight, and beautiful, and it goes by the
name of love.* This doctrine is traceable throughout his writings.
We have begun with his early poems ; if we pass on to the Sonnets,
there also we have it in abundance, sometimes with a tinge of con
vention and dejected admission, as in Sonnet cxxix, but far more
frequently as the expression of an emotion almost startling in its sin
cerity —

I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body's treason ;

this repentant cry, moreover, is nobly supported by the stern and
spiritual resolve of the cxLVith Sonnet above mentioned, which, likely
enough, is an epilogue to the whole Sonnet series.

Next we follow the doctrine through the long series of plays till we
reach Measure for Measure. Here we are aware of an astonishing culmi
nation of antitheta due to long pondering on the subject. We see these
antitheta thrown, as it were, into the scales of a vast weighing-machine.
Awestruck we watch the slow successive balancings, but the scale that
falls at last, and falls heavily, is on the side of the angels. From this point
onward we have no more of convention (and we never had much), no
more of dejected doubt, no more even of antitheta ; henceforth all is
the plain speaking of a plain conviction.

Into the heaven-reflecting lake of The Tempest are poured the various
streams of Shakespeare's noble and most spiritual philosophy. Therein
are mingled the rarer action of virtue, the old piety that lived each day
as if the last, the old simple faith in * Providence divine ', and the newer
faith in a human brotherhood. There also are the education that en
nobles, the civilization that works only by uplifting, and, as I venture
to believe, the finer knowledge that bears flower of reverence and fruit

i34 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

of wisdom. Thither more certainly flow the vital streams of conscience,
free will, repentance, forgiveness, charity, and almost every other moral
faculty and aspiration. But the stream whose course I have traced so
imperfectly brings perhaps the most important tribute ; for the play of
The Tempest appears to concern itself chiefly with the beauty, ecstasy,
and sanctity of a pure love consummated by marriage. Not alone to
* holy wedlock * (as he styles it in Lucrece) does the poet pay this last
tribute of his spiritual genius ; significantly he pleads the wholesome
discipline of courtship, and the yet more imperative need of pre-nuptial
purity ; and he concludes by uttering what is perhaps the plainest and
sternest of all his moral denunciations, for on unmarried love, he tells us —

No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall . . .

but barren hate,

Sour-eyed disdain and discord shall bestrew
The union of your bed with weeds so loathly
That you shall hate it both. (The Tempest, IV. i. 18-23.)

' Parts *, says Dr. Johnson, * are not to be examined till the whole
has been surveyed ' ; and the light I have endeavoured to throw on the
two poems of Shakespeare is now seen to be a collective radiance, the
radiance of a moral philosophy whose elements differ only as one star
differeth from another star in glory.

MORTON LUCE

W. F. TRENCH

135

THE 3^EED FOR
MEDITATION

LET it be reasserted with fervency to-day that there is no limit
to the possibilities of fresh interpretation of Shakespeare. Recent
advance in psychology extends the horizon. But every subtle inter
pretation will be met by the facile retort that it would have surprised
Shakespeare to hear of meanings attributed to him. For popular
criticism has not time to comprehend the truth that the supreme poet
remains unaware of the full significance of his utterance. An old truth
even in the days of Plato, it is implicitly assented to, inasmuch as refer
ence to poetic * inspiration ' is a commonplace. The perfect poem is
felt to have, instead of the inchoateness or formlessness of everyday
self-expression, the harmony, unity, life of Nature's works. She
being the producer of life and perfect form — she, and not man's
conscious will — the poetry is therefore felt to be inspired by her.

Indeed, if we grant the poet's right to the title of creator, what is it
to declare, after Plato, that he does not know the full significance of
his utterance, but to declare that he is not a God ? But there is no
other truth so rich in implication and consequence as this, that man
was made in the image of God. Wherefore Shakespeare, moulding with
creative energy the dust of chaotic experience, makes of it cosmos and
breathes into it life. And because Life is infinite, there is no terminus
to the Shakespeare student's voyage of research.

But every one is in too great a hurry ; and we must train ourselves
in meditation. In the words of Hamlet to the Ghost —

Haste me to know it, that I with wings as swift
As meditation . . . may sweep to my revenge —

there will be heard some day, by all who have understanding, the
laughter of the supreme master of irony, causing the hero, in the very
words with which he expresses the readiness of his will, to express
unawares his impotence. Could Hamlet have thought of wings swifter

136 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

than meditation, it might have better availed him. But if we be called,
not to the swoop of revenge, as he was, but to the study of the deepest
mind yet found among men, then the leisure of those brooding wings,
and not the hawk's flight of journalism, is what we shall need.

Milton, feeling that there were unplumbed depths in Shakespeare,
expressed in fantastic words of homage his sense of the need of unhurried
meditation :

Thou, our fancy of itself bereaving,

Dost make us marble with too much conceiving.

If we have inherited Milton's feeling, then the real advance in
psychology in our days may mean for us an increased measure of in
sight. Criticism remains rich in heart-stirring possibilities of romantic
discovery.

WlLBRAHAM FlTZjOHN TRENCH.

GEORGE SAINTSBURY 137

TOUCHSTONE

NOT indeed in the theatrical sense of * as ' — indeed one of the
innumerable legends assigns him quite a different part in the play : nor
referring to one of his own most delightful creations at all. But it was
said once of a writer — great in his own way, though the word * great
ness * can hardly be used in the same sense (even with change of degree)
of him and of Shakespeare — that he * was a touchstone : for he in
variably displeased all fools '.

The difference of the greatness, however, appears in this very
limitation. It is much in a man's favour that he should displease fools ;
but merely arousing their displeasure does not necessarily imply any
very wonderful or multifarious greatness in himself : certainly it does
not imply any infinite quality. Nor is it perhaps true that Shakespeare
displeases all fools, though it may be more arguable that all whom he
does displease deserve the classification.

The way in which he shows his touchstoneship is much more subtle
and has much more of that uncanny infinity which is not improperly
ascribed to him. He may not displease all fools : some fools may
indeed be — or may think themselves — very proud of him, and admire
him — or think they admire him — highly. But he has a terrible and
unerring power of disclosing folly in those who talk of him, be they
admirers or decriers. It may be said, * But is not this the case with
every subject of long and varied discussion ? ' To some extent perhaps,
and to a greater no doubt, the longer and the more varied the discussion
has been. For in such cases there is an ever-growing temptation either
to platitude simple or, still worse, to * platitude reversed ' — to paradox,
laborious innovation, affected heresy and the like, all of which are among
the worst forms of folly.

Yet it is difficult to remember any other subject, even among those
that have, at one or more times, been absolutely fashionable — and
where there is fashion there is nearly always folly — which has had quite
this dread power. The Man in the Iron Mask, Junius, ' Was Pope
a poet ? V Was Queen Mary guilty ? ' — great store of folly has no doubt

138 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

been evolved by the application of all these tests to fit persons ; but they
were not infallible as such. Shakespeare is.

He is indeed not only infallible directly in discovering folly in the
persons who talk about him ; he has the doubly uncanny faculty of
exercising a sort of secondary assay. Rymer in the early days, and
Riimelin in later ones, succumb to his power in denouncing him ; and
then other persons, defending or excusing Riimelin or Rymer, exhibit
the fatal signs as a sort of contagion, though they may themselves be
apparently sound on the main Shakespearian question. Not the cups
and mirrors of eastern and western Romance, which revealed a lady's
weakness or a knight's treachery, had this daemonic power of transferred
detection. Yet, on the other hand, the equity of its operation can be
illustrated by the example of Ernest Hello. Nobody has abused Shake
speare more ; but nobody, even in praising him, has shown less folly. The
premisses were wrong ; the standpoint out of range or focus ; the glasses
coloured and bevelled unduly ; so that the judgement must be reversed
or disallowed. But there has been no folly in this judge, and he need
not be written down what so many judges have to be written down.

Still the case is parlous ; and it is said that some persons, pusillani
mous it may be but not wholly foolish, have actually declined to write
books about Shakespeare, and have made special intercession for them
selves before committing smaller risks about him to paper. As one
looks over the three hundred years during which there has been
possibility of Shakespeare discussion, the procession of * touched '
and discovered folly is great and rather terrible, if sometimes also very
amusing. Dry den himself, emerging unstained and triumphant in the
best of his utterances, fails, as is too well known, in at least one instance —
bears a spot on the otherwise untarnished surface. Of Rymer 's abuse
no more need be said ; indeed, it is almost too amusing to be really
abusive, and it is rather surprising that no one has recently taken the
line that it was ' only his fun ' — a willing sacrifice at the altar of the
Comic Spirit, as they would perhaps call it. Poor Shad well's patronage
has something of the same quality of amusement, but remains, alas !
unparadoxable as an evidence of folly. Except Johnson (from whom
Folly fled invariably even when he was most prejudiced and most
wrong-premissed) and Maurice Morgann (from whom Queen Whims
drove her poor relation Folly off), almost all eighteenth-century critics,
well deserving as they may be of the excuses or defences which have
been recently made for them, betray the spot which the touchstone has
made. Since Coleridge (though not in him) the occasional foolish faces

GEORGE SAINTSBURY

of praise have been mingled with the crowd of those of blame — though
of course the latter have been the more numerous, while in a large
number of cases it has not been necessary that the voluntary victim
should take a side either in admiration or depreciation. On one of
these sides there are the good folks who are sure that Shakespeare was
disgusted by all his naughty characters ; those who try to make him out
a partisan of their own views in politics, religion, and what not ; those
who are quite sure that he not only * could be ' but always was * very
serious ' — who accordingly make elaborate apologetic explanations for
things like the gallery-stuffing of the early plays, or even extenuate
themselves in one sense at extenuating him in another, and trying to
prove that passages, scenes, and even whole plays which they do not like
are not his; with others of various amiably foolish kinds. On the
opposite side — the side of repudiation — it is needless, and would indeed
be impossible, to enumerate the various divisions and corps of the
armies of Doubters and Bloodmen who attack our Mansoul. From the
champions of the Unities to contemporaries who question whether
Shakespeare has always attended properly to that * conflict ' which, it
seems, is as necessary to a drama as a brown tree once was to a picture —
one knows them all. Of Baconians and other enemies of ' the Strat-
forder ' who need talk ? — do they not one and all bear on their arms the
badge of Moria ? And so of the rest.

But it is of the middle division, glanced at above, that the writer
of this modest contribution has been chiefly thinking. Although a man
may be quite free from theories of what drama ought to be and not in
the least convinced that Shakespeare was written by Taylor the Water-
poet — still there are innumerable instances showing that when he takes
up the study of the bard, the hood of Chaucer's contemporaries and the
nightcap of Pope's becomes, in some hideous fashion, metamorphosed
into another kind of headgear. It does not apparently matter much
what his special line of investigation may be. Forty years ago, as some
may directly remember and as others must have learnt from history, the
prevailing craze was that of cutting up the plays, or some of them, into
little stars and attributing these to Shakespeare's predecessor-contem
poraries who must, according to such theories, have composed on the
principle prevailing in ' places where they sing ' — the parts of speeches
being parcelled out like the phrasing of an anthem. But this game has,
to some extent, been played out as regards Shakespeare, and has passed
to other dramatists. Beaumont and Fletcher have already suffered
much from it ; and those who live long enough will probably see

140 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

passages of Goff bestowed upon Nabbes, and unrecognized fragments
of Robert Davenport discovered in the plays of Lodowick Carlell.
For some time the exercises in which Wisdom no doubt sometimes
displays more or less of herself, but where Folly is often visible at full
length, have been for the most part transformed to the interpretation
of plot and character — certainly a spacious field enough, and one on and
about which one might hunt long and merrily on the chance of dis
covering Wisdom, and in the certainty of meeting with Folly. But this is
no place for particular records of the various gems. Were such a survey
undertaken it would certainly confirm the general theory advanced
in this paper — that for a Touchstone of Folly there is nothing like
Shakespeare — ignoble as may at first seem to be the use to which we
put our greatest.

And yet, as has indeed been already hinted to the intelligent,
though the use may be ignoble, the fact is very much the reverse. For
it is only a function or special administration of that gift of universality
which the first great critic of Shakespeare hit upon as his main charac
teristic, and which all great critics of him (except one or two who have
been deflected from the true way by some malign obstacle or influence)
have recognized since. For the universal, of its very nature and defini
tion, cannot be limited even to the enormous range of Shakespeare's
actual utterances. It must include, or, to use a more exact word, extend
to, not merely everything that he touches but everything that touches
him. He brings out the qualities of a foolish critic of his plays, just
as he does those of a foolish personage in them — and poor Rymer,
again, in the seventeenth century — let us not be so ill mannered as to
specify anybody in the twentieth — has, like Shallow or Simple, to present
himself as he is. Of course, the touchstone character is not limited to
folly. It extends to wisdom as well, and we should not have known the
full intellectual power of Coleridge, or the full appreciative power of
Hazlitt, if it had not been for Shakespeare. Of course, likewise, as some
clever one may say, this accounts for the foolish things that may have
been said in this very paper. There is no possibility of denying it —
supposing that there have been any. But the fact would establish the
theory if it were not wholly complimentary to the theorizer. And base
is the slave who would not prefer the establishment of his doctrine to
the gratification of his personality.

GEORGE SAINTSBURY.
POLYGON HOUSE,

SOUTHAMPTON,

Lady Day, 1916.

J. M. ROBERTSON 141

THE TA^DOX OF SHAKgSPEAT^E

ONE of the finest of all the essays written upon Shakespeare, that of
Charles Lamb on the Tragedies, is hardly ever cited or discussed, so far
as I have observed, among Shakespearians. The reason, I think, is that
men are unwilling either to accept its thesis or to deny it — a very good
reason, perhaps, for leaving a question alone. ' It may seem a paradox/
writes Lamb, * but I cannot help being of opinion that the plays of
Shakespeare are less calculated for performance on a stage than those
of almost any other dramatist whatever. Their distinguishing excellence
is a reason that they should be so. There is so much in them which
comes not under the province of acting, with which eye and tone and
gesture have nothing to do.'

Lamb of course should not have said : ' It may seem a paradox, but '
— he was propounding a paradox in the proper sense of the word, as
Shakespeare used it, that is to say, a proposition that seems false, but is
true. And though the proposition is likely to be spontaneously resisted
by many, as it naturally was by Irving, no one, so far as I know, has ever
sought to confute it save by way of simple denial and contrary assevera
tion, a process from which Lamb's analysis escapes untouched.

There is indeed just enough of suggestion in Lamb's essay of
* paradox ' in the popular and perverted force of the term, enough of
the mood that flouts a truism or a convention for the flouting 's sake,
to give it so much of that aspect and literary status as serves to keep it
out of the arena of serious critical debate. The initial motive of indigna
tion at the epitaph which ranked Garrick as kindred in mind with
Shakespeare was of a kind which often enough served Lamb for * para-
doxing ' in the received sense ; and his handling of the old play of
George Barnwell, with its ' trifling peccadillo, a murder of an uncle or so ',
might very well keep up the confusion for readers not inclined to face
the problem. And, lover as he was of the great art of acting, in which
no man took more delight than he, he yet permitted himself to write
as if he saw in it nothing but the personal demerits of its practitioners.

i42 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

But he was perfectly serious about his main thesis ; and, so far as his
broad statement goes, he was perfectly right. He truly stated what, on
the analogy of the * Paradox of Acting ', as put by Diderot, we may
properly term the Paradox of Shakespeare.

A glimpse of its truth must instantly come to any one who muses
thoughtfully on the significance of the fact that the whole intellectual
world is to-day commemorating, in the midst of the most tremendous
war in all history, a theatre-poet of three hundred years ago who made
his living, and a modest competence, as an actor and a playwright,
a * public entertainer ' working on a commercial basis. What has availed
to make him thus immortal, as immortality goes in the modern world ?
Other men of that era, Luther and Copernicus, Rabelais and Montaigne,
the great artists and poets of Italy, have had a still longer run of fame,
with security for its continuance, on more or less obvious grounds.
Protestants revere Luther ; all educated men salute Copernicus ; the
writers, poets, and artists are esteemed as such. But Shakespeare, who
of all writers wins the widest tribute, is not extolled primarily or essen
tially as a writer of plays. Most of us have never seen half his plays
staged, and our posterity is probably likely to see still less of them.
Manifestly, it is by his readers that Shakespeare is pedestalled : he who
wrote for the stage finds immortality in the study, like classics in general.

Lamb's main thesis is that Shakespeare's work has a spiritual or
intellectual content which of necessity eludes representation ; that the
presentment obtrudes a multitude of details which positively shut out
for us the greatest thought-impressions that the plays can make ;
and that Hamlet or Othello on the stage is psychically for us a different
being from the spirit revealed to us by the reading. * This was
sometimes a paradox, but now the time gives it proof.' It is the tacit
testimony of all students, of all who have really lived with Shakespeare.
Lamb, of course, should have added that the stage can never give us the
continuous impalpable inner music of the verse, the thrill of rhythm
which fuses with our sense of the words, the ideas, the character, the
problem. A faithful rendering of the verse as verse, sometimes demanded
by critics from actors, would probably hinder instead of furthering the
mimetic effect, the air of reality necessarily sought by the player :
Irving, who knew his business on that side, used to make his superior
effect of actuality as against his colleagues by positively disregarding
verse measure. Verse is an * ideal ' medium for dramatic dialogue,
representing not life, not mimesis, but verbal art : the * nature ' to which
it holds up the mirror is not * practic ' but * theoric ' : its world is

J. M. ROBERTSON 143

subjective, not objective. The player in Hamlet might have suggested
to the critic-Prince that it is ' from the purpose of playing '.

We seem to come, then, to what looks like a paradox in the popular
meaning, a mere extravagance, flouting common-sense ; to wit, the
verdict that the admittedly greatest of all dramatists was not rightly or
essentially a dramatist but something else ; and that the end at which
he certainly aimed throughout his life is not the end which he best
achieves. Yet so it is : this is the true paradox.

The main fact is substantiated, for one thing, by the growing
infrequency and the experimental character of the stage representations.
Germans boast, and sometimes thereby disconcert the ingenuous
Briton, that among them Shakespeare is much more played than among
us. But that fact, so far from proving a higher appreciation of Shake
speare in Germany than here, is really a proof to the contrary. Germans
run Shakespeare on the stage as they run their State ideal, in the spirit
of idolatry or convention- worship, not as a matter of independent
critical judgement. They have been drilled and told what to admire,
as they have been drilled and told what to think, to say, and to do.
People who suppose they can get Shakespeare on the stage, in transla
tion, as they can get him in the book, in his own tongue, are bowing to
a convention, not to the reality, which is subjective. The cultured
Englishman knows this, with or without the help of Lamb : the average
German does not. Shakespeare is to-day more widely read in his own
tongue than ever, and this will continue while his plays are staged less
and less.

Perhaps we shall better realize the truth of the paradox if we note
some of the exceptions suggested by Lamb's * almost '. Shakespeare's
dramas, clearly, are not less ' calculated ' for performance on a stage
than those of Marlowe, who, though not properly an epic poet, as is
suggested by Professor Schroer of Freiburg, is, especially in his earlier
plays, much less of a stage poet than our master. Tamburlaine, as poetry
and as primitive psychic creation, is to-day simply unplayable ; but
Faustus and Barabas, in their different ways, are also irreducible to the
plane of the theatre. Marlowe, in a word, had in his simpler ' elemental '
fashion charged these creations with a conceptual content which eludes
the stage, the poetry and the character-concept being alike extraneous
to the mechanism of representation. And even when he devotes himself
to quasi-realism, the law of the poetic drama holds good for his work.
If Professor Schroer had perceived, as editors are now beginning to
do, that Fleay was right in pronouncing Richard the Third a creation of

144 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

Marlowe, he would have altered his proposition : Richard is the result
of a steady progress towards dramatic as distinct from poetic construc
tion. But, as Lamb expressly contends, Richard in his degree also
transcends drama proper. The intellectual monster, the poetic villain,
like the poetic hero, exists as an idea behind the enacted man.

Shakespeare, then, with his far more various and profounder gifts,
and with his far greater measure of practical judgement in combination
with these, did but fulfil in his far truer and greater ideal world
the destiny of the poet turned dramatist. Endowed with the most
consummate faculty of sympathy and comprehension, he was made a
dramatist by his vocation, to his and our unspeakable profit ; for there
is nothing in his two long poems to suggest that, poet as he was, he could
ever have ' found himself ' save in the dramatic form. And the evolu
tion of the plays tells of an original bias to the poetic, the discursive,
which only the needs and pressures of the stage could reduce to dramatic
service. In Love's Labour 's Lost and the Midsummer Night's Dream
we have poetic extravaganzas rather than plays : the early Comedies of
action are presumptively recasts of older work ; and King John, written
after an old model, is poetic, discursive, eloquent, to the limit of the
theatre's acceptance. It is only after a dozen years of stage experience
that we get Othello, with its intense compression ; and in Othello, with
all its lightning-like effects of action, the sheer idealism of the con
ception, as Lamb maintained, outgoes the process on the stage.

But there is another side to the problem. The tragedies of Jonson,
assuredly, are not ' calculated ' for representation ; and here we have
the express evidence of theatrical history, as it were in defiance of Lamb's
thesis, that in the Stuart days audiences delighted in Shakespeare who
turned away from ' tedious but well-laboured Catiline '. Jonson, in
tragedy, missed his end on the stage without attaining another in the
study ; for in his case even great rhetoric has failed to attain that some
thing more than drama which is the secret of the dominion of Shake
speare. With all his strength, he had neither the elemental creative
force of Marlowe nor the all-comprehending sympathy of Shakespeare :
he is but the doctrinaire of poetic tragedy. There has never been a
Jonson club, I think, since Jonson 's generation, when his personality
* made a school ' for him. For posterity, his work lacks magic.

But already we are faced by the qualification which must be placed
on Lamb's paradox. The stage vogue of Shakespeare tells that not only
was his sheer stage-craft the best of his age, but something in his work
conquered that age, even on the boards. It can hardly be that actors

J. M. ROBERTSON 145

then were subtler than now : it must have been that his vision of life,
his high-poised sanity and his imaginative reach, forced themselves
on a generation accustomed to poetic drama, though the later vogue of
the hectic tragedy of Beaumont and Fletcher indicates the critical limits
of the popular culture. And since that day, down to our own, some
thing of the overtones and undertones of Shakespeare's incomparable
speech, something of his larger message, must have touched the more
impressible even of the audiences, for many of whom the sensations of the
ghosts and the fencing in Hamlet and Macbeth were the capital items.

And in the comedies, too, though Lamb claimed that he could
prove his case for these as for the tragedies if he would, the play of fun
and feeling, the unserious poetry, so much nearer the plane of the actual,
must have meant some seizure of Shakespeare's charm. As You Like It
is not a world of * cloudy companionship ' and hovering reverie ; and
to witness it is to be in the poet's sunshine, though the stage lets slip
through its fingers the music and the moonlit poetry of Belmont, to
say nothing of the wonder-world of The Tempest. But thus still the
paradox holds : the Shakespeare of the stage is in the main but the inte
gument in which the greatest of dramatic poets infused his utmost art
of rhythmic speech and of brooding sympathy with the fates of men.
Wellnigh all his plots came to him as vehicles tested by theatrical
success in other hands ; and to them he committed his invisible freight
of poetry and thought, the infinite dream of his imagination. The
paradox of Shakespeare, in short, is that of the master-poet led by
economic destiny to the work in which alone, to an end he could not
have foreseen, his poetic power could attain its supremest possibilities,
that task which, if economically free, he would probably not have chosen,
of being the poetic mouthpiece of a world of imagined men and women.
Becoming a theatre-poet to make his livelihood, he builded better than
he can possibly have known. And thus, perhaps, his paradox is finally
just the paradox of all genius that reaches consummation.

J. M. ROBERTSON,

KNIGHT'S PLACE,
PEMBURY, KENT.

146 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

THE TET^CENTENAT^T OF SHAI^ESPEAT^ES

DEATH— 1916

Come the three corners of the world in arms,

And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,

If England to itself do rest but true.

King John, Act V, Sc. vii.

CALM at the height of Danger's darkest hour,

With hearts enduring, hands outstretched to save

That civil world the foe would fain devour,

The whelming rush of barbarous hosts we brave ;

And, trusting to the safe, well-guarded wave,
Confront the battle. Mighty is the power
Of Freedom, Britain's heirloom, sacred dower,

By Flanders' blood secured, and Suvla's grave 1

But yet a stronger talisman we own,

A nobler Unity our souls confess,
Felt in each Briton's heart ev'n while unsung,

Alike in torrid air and frozen zone ;
A free-born Empire's patriot consciousness,

Tuned to the music of our Shakespeare's tongue.

W. J. COURTHOPE 147

The same, loosely paraphrased in Italian.

Nel mezzo di periglio Talma forte

Rinforzo stende ed ospitalitate

Dair Anglia alle genti abbandonate,
Che vuol vorar di Prusia il crudel corte ;
Dove, gP eredi d'una degna sorte,

Fidiamo noi air onde ben guardate,

E voi T area nostra sicurate,
Col sangue, Flandra, e, Suvla, colla morte.
Vi resta a noi piu forte talismano,

Deir unita che splende al mondo intero,
Che quando pure senza rime vanta

L' Inglese, ed il Dominio di lontano ;
La conscienza libera d* Impero :

Fra noi ella nacque, ed il Shakespeare la canta.

W. J. COURTHOPE.

L 2

148 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

THOUGHT Ff(OM ITALY

I SEE them peopled, as he weaves the spell,

Verona, Padua, Venice, — a new crown

Of honour added to their old renown :

But if his own eyes saw them none may tell.

No trivial spirit of his ampler days

Revealed the poet's secret, which is well.

He is exempt from question or dispraise,

And time has left us but the miracle.

We may not know if ever he came here,

Whose intuitions baffle and transcend

Our knowledge, and begin where we must end ;

But I would dream it, and such dreams are dear,

Since all the sun, the magic, and the mirth

Are in his words, * that pleasant country's earth.'

J. RENNELL RODD.
ROME.

JOHN BAILEY 149

ON FALSTAFF

To be invited to join in a tribute to the memory of Shakespeare is
to receive an embarrassing and perilous honour. Let me try to escape
some at least of its dangers by avoiding the impertinence of any direct
words about his genius, and trying rather to give an indirect proof of
its transcendent working as seen in a case in which it has, I think, as it
were, over-reached itself.

Falstaff is admittedly Shakespeare's greatest humorous creation and
perhaps the greatest purely humorous figure in the literature of the
world. Now it is an invariable characteristic of humour that to a greater
or less extent it dissolves morality. In so far as the humour of a humor
ous person takes possession of us we do not notice, or at least do not
condemn, his vices. This is so in our view of actual historical characters.
The drunkenness of Charles Lamb, the conjugal infidelities of La
Fontaine, are not judged as they would be judged if we were not entirely
preoccupied with our delight in their humour and with the affection
which flows out to people who give us that delight. And the same thing
is still more noticeable in the case of fictitious characters. We ought
to think of Mrs. Gamp as an abominable old woman, dirty, drunken,
heartless. But in fact we never think anything of the sort. Indeed we
do not think at all : if we did we might be forced to think hard things of
the old sinner, but she takes good care to keep us better occupied.
Whenever she is present, we take our ease in our inn, drinking with
greedy delight of her inexhaustible fountain, far too happy to remember
anything graver than our happiness.

Falstaff is, of course, an incomparably greater figure than Mrs. Gamp,
and naturally the effect he produces is still more remarkable. Nobody
exactly likes Mrs. Gamp : we all love Falstaff. Why ? Not only because
Falstaff is greater than Mrs. Gamp, but because she is a figure which we
see in the street and he is a figure we find in the looking-glass. It is
a magnifying glass, no doubt, but still what it shows us is ourselves.
Ourselves, not as we are, but as we can fancy we might have been ;

150 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

expanded, exalted, extended in every direction of bodily life, all the
breadth and depth and height of it. Not a man of us but is conscious
in himself of some seed that might have grown into Falstaff 's joyous and
victorious pleasure in the life of the senses. There, we feel, but for the
grace of God, and but for our own inherent weakness and stupidity, go
we : just as in Hamlet we feel our own glorified selves in another way,
dreaming, hesitating, self-questioning, only that it is all raised a thou
sandfold in quantity and quality, and that Hamlet, like Falstaff, can give
free and glorious form and utterance to what in us is only incoherent and
inarticulate chaos. So in both we love ourselves, as indeed it is always
some kinship with ourselves that we love in others. That is the truth
behind the homo sum, humani nihil alienum of Terence and behind
greater sayings than Terence ever uttered. But in Falstaff we love
a quality that has always been found peculiarly human and lovable.
What delights us in him is not merely the sense of an infinite freedom
that he gives us, the escape into a world in which the police and the Ten
Commandments are not only impotent, but ridiculous, and in which the
spirit, as it were, of the body is as free from the constraint of the soul, as
in Shelley's poetry the spirit of the soul is free from the constraint of the
body. All this exalts us and gives us joy. But what specially wins our
love is something else. It is that Falstaff, at his most triumphant times,
is triumphant at his own expense. If he did not know that he was
a gross tun of flesh, a drunkard, a coward, and a liar we should know
it much more and love him much less. Here, as in religion, the way
of confession is the way of forgiveness. And forgiving is very near
loving. So when we hear La Fontaine laughing at his own follies and
confessing his own sins, we not only forgive him, we love him. Perhaps
he is the only French poet for whom we have exactly that indulgent
affection, because no other has anything like so much of what we think
the supreme element of humour, that which induces a man to laugh
freely at himself ; a quality which has been much more English than
French, as wit, which is akin to satire and mostly exercised at the expense
of other people, has been more brilliant in France than in England.

Well, of course Falstaff is peculiarly rich in this crowning gift.
1 Thou seest I have more flesh than another man ; and therefore more
frailty.' ' I do here walk before thee like a sow that hath overwhelmed
all her litter but one/ ' A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent ;
of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage . . . and
now I remember me, his name is Falstaff : if that man should be lewdly
given, he deceiveth me ; for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks.' It is

JOHN BAILEY 151

everywhere, of course, in both the plays. And probably it is this
supreme quality that, added on to all the rest, has given Falstaff the
unique distinction which Shakespeare never meant him to have.

It is the triumph of Mrs. Gamp and her like, as we were saying just
now, to suspend the action of the moral judgement. And if of Mrs.
Gamp, of course a hundred times more of Falstaff. But Falstaff has
a glory which he shares with no one else. If other humorous creations
suspend judgement, he can do much more. He can victoriously reverse
it. His humorous confession of his sins so disarms and delights us,
that he has positively persuaded more than one subtle person to deny
their existence altogether. Maurice Morgann in the eighteenth century
was his first conquest. Others have followed, the most significant being
the finest of living Shakespearean critics, Mr. A. C. Bradley, who sub
stantially agrees with Morgann that Falstaff was not a coward, and adds
that he was not a liar either, in the ordinary sense of that word.

My object now is not to discuss this theory in detail, which would
require far more space than I can ask for here. It is rather to draw
attention to the proof it affords of Shakespeare's amazing power, even
when exercised, as it were, to his own defeat. He has so flooded Fal
staff with the dazzling light of his genius that some of those among his
critics who are most able to bear and enjoy such light, have been blinded
by it to the other and grosser elements in Falstaff which to duller eyes
are plain and indubitable. For that the theory is a complete mistake is,
I venture to think, certain, for two broad reasons which almost render
unnecessary the detailed discussion of the evidence of the text. This
last is admittedly not all on one side of the argument, though even here
the preponderance seems to me considerable. But details discovered
in the closet can never be an answer to the broad effect made upon the
stage. No man ever understood the theatre better than Shakespeare.
It is certain that all the large and general impressions his characters make
upon the stage can only be the impressions which he intended them to
make. Now what that impression has always been in the case of Fal
staff is not doubtful. The audience has throughout regarded him as
a coward and a liar, and Shakespeare must have known that it would and
meant that it should. To attempt to reverse this impression on the
strength of little-noticed inconsistencies, such as the surrender of Sir
John Colevile, is as hopeless a business as the similar attempt to make
of Shy lock a sympathetic figure, because Shakespeare made him a human
being instead of a stage Jew. Shakespeare wrote for the pit, not for the
critics : and though the critics are always adding to our wonder and

152 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

delight by discovering things which, unperceived by the pit, were
consciously or unconsciously in the poet's mind, yet on these broad
issues the continuous verdict of the pit is final.

There is another general consideration which seems to me equally
fatal to the view taken by Morgann and his successors. Is there not —
I suggest it with great hesitation — some lack of humour in suggesting
that Falstaff was not a coward and a liar ? What is left of the humour of
the great scene at the Boar's Head if * A plague of all cowards, I say ' is
to come from a brave man's mouth ? And where is the humour of
* Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying ', if the speaker be as
truthful as the Duke of Wellington ? What is left of the humour of the
Prince's chaff * I lack some of thy instinct ' if all the audience does not
know that Falstaff is what the Prince elsewhere calls him * a natural
coward without instinct ' ? And where is the fun of the whole refutation
-' Mark now how a plain tale shall put you down ' — if Falstaff had not
intended and expected to pass himself off as the hero of the affair ? That
is not the language in which a man replies to a joke ; and if Falstaff did
not intend to be believed why, I wonder, did he hack his sword to make
it evidence ? Mr. Bradley thinks it absurd to suppose that he would
have made the mistake about declaring the men were ' in Kendal green '
just after asserting that it was so dark that he could not see his hand.
Has Mr. Bradley never been in a police court ? Every day there gives
proof of how difficult it is to tell a lie without at the same time providing
its refutation ? Certainly no small part of the humour of the scene lies
in Falstaff 's glorious escape from the refutation of his story. But to
suppose that the whole scene is a kind of make-believe, that he did not
expect to be believed, and they did not intend to put him to shame,
seems to me to destroy half the delight of his victorious escape, which
we enjoy and admire precisely because it seemed so inevitable that he
would be reduced to confusion by the Prince's exposure.

No, Mr. Bradley and those who agree with him are simply the
strongest evidence of the amazing magic of Shakespeare's creation. The
true explanation of their delusion is akin to that which Mr. Bradley
himself so ingeniously and convincingly offers of the puzzling scene of
the rejection of Falstaff. That scene is unpleasant, which is certainly
not what Shakespeare meant it to be. He must have intended us to
think Henry's conduct natural and to sympathize with it. But we do
not. And the reason must be, in Mr. Bradley's words, that Shakespeare

JOHN BAILEY 153

had * created so extraordinary a being and fixed him so firmly on his
intellectual throne that when he sought to dethrone him he could not '.
So with those who are blind to FalstafPs lying and cowardice. Shake
speare has shown them such a light that they can see nothing else, not
even what he meant them to see. He has given them such delight that
they will not admit the reality of anything that might detract from it.
He has created a being so overflowing with an inexhaustible fountain of
life and humanity that they love him and enter into him and become
themselves so much a part of him that they are ready to explain away his
vices as we all explain away our own. So far Shakespeare has overshot
his own mark. Not on the stage, nor with the plain man. There the
liar and coward will always be as visible as the genius. But for men of
more than ordinary susceptibility to intellectual pleasure Shakespeare
has in Falstaff provided a too intoxicating banquet. They find in
Falstaff a man to whom lying with genius was simply a natural and
pleasurable activity of his nature, who lies with glorious delight and
commonly with triumphant success, who is himself supremely happy
when he lies and makes all who hear or read him supremely happy too.
They find that when they are with him they are in Heaven, which is
a place where acts are their own ends, and they will not admit that he
runs away, except for the pleasure of it, or lies, except as an artist,
delighting in doing what he knows he can do as no other man can, and
without any ulterior object of profit or reward. So with such men, and
so far, Shakespeare fails, with this glorious failure. Their judgements
are drowned in a flood of intellectual delight.

JOHN BAILEY.

154 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

THE OCCASION OF <<A MIDSUMMER
RIGHTS

IT has long been recognized that the epithalamic ending of A
Midsummer Night's Dream points to performance at a wedding, and that
the compliment to the * fair vestal throned by the west ' points to a
wedding at which Queen Elizabeth was present. The most plausible
date hitherto suggested is January 26, 1595, on which William Stanley,
Earl of Derby, married the Lady Elizabeth Vere, daughter of the Earl
of Oxford, granddaughter of William, Lord Burghley, and goddaughter
and maid of honour to the queen. This would fit in well enough with
the allusions in the play to the bad weather of 1594, and to the lion at
the baptism of Prince Henry of Scotland on August 30 of the same year ;
while the presence of Elizabeth has been inferred from the words of
Stowe, who says that * The 26 of January William Earl of Derby
married the Earl of Oxford 's daughter at the court then at Greenwich,
which marriage feast was there most royally kept '. I have long been
puzzled by the statement that the wedding was * at the court ' ; not so
much because the Treasurer of the Chamber made no payment for
a court play on January 26, 1595, since the performance might have been
ordered, not by the queen, but by the friends of the bride or bridegroom,
as because the wedding itself does not appear in the list of those
solemnized in the royal chapel and closet which is preserved in the so-
called ' Cheque-Book ' of the Chapel (ed. E. F. Rimbault, 160), and
I have now good reason to think that Stowe made a mistake on this point,
for in the accounts of the churchwardens of St. Martin's, Westminster
(ed. J. V. Kitto, 471), I find for the year 1595 the following entry :

Item paid the xxxth of January for ringinge At her Maties Comynge to y* Lord
Threasurers to y6 Earle of Darbies weddinge And at her Departure from thence y* fyrst
of ffebruary ij1.

The court appears, indeed, to have been established at Greenwich
from the middle of December, 1594, to the middle of February 1595.
But it was not uncommon for Elizabeth, especially in her somewhat

E. K. CHAMBERS

'55

restless old age, to leave the court for a day or two's sojourn with some
favoured courtier in London or the neighbouring villages ; and it was
evidently upon such an occasion that she did honour to the nuptials of
Elizabeth Vere at Burghley House in the Strand. There is no entry
of the marriage in the registers of St. Martin's or of St. Clement Danes,
in which parishes Burghley House stood, and I think it is probable that
it took place in the chapel of the Savoy, hard by, the registers of which
are lost, for a contemporary record of another wedding, a few years later,
tells us (H.M.C.y Rutland MSS. i. 379) :

The feast was held here at Burghley howse. Mrs bryde with her hayre hanging- downe
was led betwen two yong bachelors from Burghley Howse thorough the streete, strawed,
to the Savoy gate against my lodging, and so to that church.

I do not think that it is necessary, on the strength of the St. Martin's
entry, to reject Stowe's date as well as his locality. The bell-ringings
for Elizabeth's removals are often entered with only approximate
accuracy, possibly because the churchwardens recorded the dates of
the payments rather than those of the services rendered. And Stowe's
January 26 can in fact be confirmed from another source. On January
27 Anthony Bacon wrote from London to Francis Bacon at Twickenham,
telling him that Antonio Perez had highly commended the queen's
grace and the royal magnificence of some court solemnity then on hand
(T. Birch, Elizabeth, i. 199), and this crossed a letter of the same date
from Francis to Anthony (Spedding, Life and Letters, i. 353), in which
he said :

I hope by this time Antonio Perez hath seen the Queen dance (that is not it, but her
disposition of body to be fresh and good I pray God both subjects and strangers may long
be witnesses of). I would be sorry the bride and bridegroom should be as the weather hath
fallen out, that is go to bed fair and rise lowring.

Spedding could not identify the bride and bridegroom, but there
can be no doubt about them. Elizabeth, of course, was ready to dance
on the edge of her grave ; Burghley, the master of the feast, old and
gouty, was for other than for dancing measures. He had written to
Robert Cecil on December 2 (T. Wright, Elizabeth and her Times,
ii. 440) :

For her hope to have me dance, I must have a longer tyme to learn to go, but
I will be ready in mynd to dance with my hart, when I shall behold her favorable
disposition to do such honor to her mayd, for the old man's sake.

And on January 2 he added :

Though my hand is unable to fight, and my right eye unable to take a levell, yet they
both do stoop to return my humble thankes for continuance of her favor at this tyme, when
I am more fitter for an hospital, than to be a party for a marriage.

156 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

These notices of the wedding indicate a mask, rather than a play ;
but the two would not be incompatible. The internal evidence of
A Midsummer Night's Dream does not take us much farther. The
much-travelled Theseus might have been thought appropriate to William
Stanley, whose own travels are said to have taken him as far as the Holy
Land and Russia, and in later Lancashire legends grew to quite mythical
proportions. There is the famous passage in which occurs the compli
ment to Elizabeth. The attempts of the older commentators to turn
the mermaid and the falling stars and the little western flower into an
allegory of Mary Queen of Scots and the northern rebellion, or of the
intrigue of Leicester with the Countess of Essex, may be summarily
disregarded. Whatever else complimentary poetry is, it must be in the
first place gratifying to the person complimented, and in the second
place reasonably topical. The northern rebellion and Leicester's mar
riage were both forgotten far-off things in 1595, nor was either of them
calculated to give Elizabeth much pleasure in the retrospect. The
marriage in particular had caused her bitter mortification in its day, and
if Edmund Tilney had allowed Shakespeare to allude to it before her,
he would have signed his own warrant for the Tower, and Shakespeare's
for the Marshalsea. What Shakespeare was describing was, as it pro
fessed to be, a water-pageant with fireworks. But again, it is only a
want of historical perspective or a sentimental desire to find a reminis
cence of Shakespeare's childhood in his plays, which can explain the
common identification of this water-pageant with that given at Kenil-
worth as far back as 1575. The princely pleasures of Kenilworth loom
large to us out of the fragmentary records of Elizabeth's progresses,
because they were set down in a racy pamphlet at the time, and because
Scott used them as material for a novel. But there were many such
entertainments both before and after, and if Shakespeare had any
particular one in mind, it is far more likely to have been that which had
occurred comparatively recently, when Elizabeth visited the Earl of
Hertford at Elvetham in September, 1591. As a matter of fact, there was
not a mermaid on a dolphin's back either at Kenilworth or at Elvetham.
At Kenilworth there was a Triton on a mermaid's back, which is not
quite the same thing. There was the Lady of the Lake, who might
perhaps be called a sea-maid. And there was Arion on a dolphin's
back, who sang to the music of instruments in the dolphin's belly.
There were fireworks also, but apparently not on the same day as the
water-pageant. At Elvetham there was * a pompous aray of sea-

E. K. CHAMBERS 157

persons ', including Nereus, five Tritons, Neptune, and Oceanus, with
* other sea-gods ' and a train in * ouglie marine suites '. They brought
in Neaera, the ' sea-nymph/ who sang a ditty. Meanwhile a * snail-
mount ' in the water resembled ' a monster, having homes of wild-fire
continuously burning ' ; but here also the principal display of fireworks
was on another day. Obviously, so far as subject-matter goes, Elvetham
might, just as well as Kenilworth, have furnished the motive for the
extremely sketchy reminiscences of Oberon. It may be added that at
Elvetham the queen of the fairies, not for the first time in the history of
Elizabethan pageantry, had made her appearance. She is called Aureola,
not Titania, but names the king as Auberon. It goes without saying
that Cupid all armed is not mentioned in either account. He could only
be seen by Oberon. But it is to Cupid and the wound inflicted by his
bolt on the little western flower that the whole description leads up.
The flower has a part in the action of the play, and possibly we ought not
to seek for any further motive for its introduction. But if it points, as
some think, at an enamoured woman, how can this possibly be Lady
Essex, or anybody else but the bride in whose glorification, next
only to that of Elizabeth, the play was written ? I do not assert that
William Stanley and Elizabeth Vere, then sixteen, met and loved at
Elvetham in 1591. Indeed, as will be seen before the end of this article,
I do not assert that William Stanley and Elizabeth Vere were the bride
groom and bride of the play at all. But Elizabeth Vere, as one of the
queen's maids, is at least likely to have been there, and William Stanley,
who was coming and going in 1589 and 1590 between London and his
father's houses in the north (Stanley Papers, ii. 66, 78, 82), may quite
well have been there too. Elizabeth Vere's marriage had been one of the
preoccupations of Lord Burghley, who had evidently taken over the
responsibilities of her fantastic father, the Earl of Oxford, for some
years before 1595. Early in 1591 the Earl of Bedford was spoken of
(S. P. Dom. Eliz. ccxxxviii. 69), but it came to nothing, and Bedford
married ' the Muses' evening, as their morning, star/ Lucy Harrington.
About 1592 Burghley had been making suit for the Earl of Northumber
land, * but my Lady Veare hath answered her grandfather that she can not
fancye him ' (H. M. C., Rutland MSS. i. 300). William Stanley was at
this time only an undistinguished younger son, and Burghley, perhaps
the greatest of our civil servants, had the civil servant's not uncommon
foible for founding a dynasty. It was in 1594 that the deaths in rapid
succession of his father and his elder brother left Stanley the most
eligible match in England.

158 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

Philostrate offers as a wedding device the ' satire keen and critical ',

of—

The thrice three Muses mourning1 for the death
Of Learning, late deceased in beggary.

This has been regarded as support for the Stanley- Vere identifica
tion, on the ground that Spenser's Tears of the Muses was dedicated in
1591 to Lady Strange, the wife of Stanley's brother and predecessor
in the title. I have used the argument myself, but I now doubt its
validity. It is not at all clear that this lady would have been at the
wedding. There was bitter feud in 1595 between her and her brother-
in-law over the succession to the Derby estates, and already on May 9,
1594, she had written to Burghley (H. M. C., Hatfield MSS. iv. 527) :

I hear of a motion of marriage between the Earl, my brother, and my Lady Vere, your
niece, but how true the news is I know not, only I wish her a better husband.

One wonders how far Lady Derby was cognisant of the rumours
sedulously spread about the country by the Jesuits as to the death
of the late Earl, which had been sudden, had suggested suspicions
of poisoning or witchcraft, and had robbed the Catholic intriguers of
a hoped-for pretender. One version (H. M. C., Hatfield MSS. v. 253)
ascribed a crime to * my lord that now is ' ; another (S. P. Dom. Eliz.
ccxlix. 92) to Burghley, in order that he might marry the young Lady
Vere to the Earl's brother. I now come to the rather curious fact that
at the Stanley-Vere wedding there actually does appear to have been
a show of the nine muses, although it was not in the least concerned
with * Learning, late deceased in beggary.' This emerges from a letter
written by Arthur Throgmorton to Robert Cecil (H. M. C., Hatfield
MSS. v. 99). It is a curious side-light, not merely upon the methods,
but upon some of the underlying motives of Elizabethan pageantry.

Matter of mirth from a good mind can minister no matter of malice, both being, as
I believe, far from such sourness (and for myself I will answer for soundness.) I am bold
to write my determination, grounded upon grief and true duty to the Queen, thankfulness
to my lord of Derby, (whose honourable brother honoured my marriage) and to assure you
I bear no spleen to yourself. If I may I mind to come in a masque, brought in by the
nine muses, whose music, I hope, shall so modify the easy softened mind of her Majesty as
both I and mine may find mercy. The song, the substance I have herewith sent you,
myself, whilst the singing, to lie prostrate at her Majesty's feet till she says she will save
me. Upon my resurrection the song shall be delivered by one of the muses, with a ring
made for a wedding ring set round with diamonds, and with a ruby like a heart placed
in a coronet, with this inscription, Elizabetha potest. I durst not do this before I had
acquainted you herewith, understanding her Majesty had appointed the masquers, which

E. K. CHAMBERS 159

resolution hath made me the unreadier : yet, if this night I may know her Majesty's leave
and your liking, I hope not to come too late, though the time be short for such a show and
my preparations posted for such a presence. I desire to come in before the other masque,
for I am sorrowful and solemn, and my stay shall not be long. I rest upon your resolution,
which must be for this business to-night or not at all.

The letter is only endorsed * Jan. 1594,' but the reference to Lord
Derby serves to relate it. Arthur Throgmorton of Paulerspury was
brother of Elizabeth Throgmorton, who married Sir Walter Raleigh.
But he can hardly have been wishing in 1595 to purge the offence given
by his sister in 1592, and of his own marriage I only know that it was to
Anne, daughter of Sir John Lucas of Essex (Bridges, Northamptonshire,
i. 312). Nor can one quite see why he should have intruded his private
affairs upon Derby's festival.

This note is growing upon my hands into a dissertation. I must
refrain from discussing the troubled early married life of the Stanleys,
which justified Bacon's fear that they might * go to bed fair and rise
lowring ', rather than Oberon's benediction of * the best bride-bed ' ; or
the later connexion of the earl with a company of players, which led
a quite competent archivist to the astounding discovery that he, another
W. S., was the real author of Shakespeare's plays. But I am afraid
I must add that I am by no means convinced that A Midsummer Night's
Dream was given on January 26, 1595, at all, although the plausibilities
are perhaps more in favour of that date than any other. I should like,
however, to be able to explore more fully the circumstances of a wedding
which has never yet been considered, that of Thomas, son of Henry
Lord Berkeley, and Elizabeth, daughter of Sir George Carey, on February
19, 1596. This is stated in the latest edition of G. E. C.'s peerage,
probably on the evidence of the unprinted registers of St. Anne's, to
have taken place from the Blackfriars, which is extremely likely, as Sir
George Carey had his town house there, next door to the building which
became Burbage's Blackfriars theatre. But I do not know that the
queen was present, although she may well have been, as Elizabeth
Carey was another of her goddaughters, and granddaughter of her
first cousin and Lord Chamberlain, Henry Lord Hunsdon. The
attractiveness of the suggestion lies in the fact that Shakespeare's com
pany were Lord Hunsdon 's men, and subsequently passed under Sir
George Carey's own patronage, when he in his turn became Lord
Hunsdon on his father's death later in 1596. Lady Carey was a sister
of the Lady Strange to whom The Tears of the Muses was dedicated.
Sir George Carey is known to have been present at the Elvetham enter-

160 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

tainment of 1591, but it would hardly be possible to put the origin of the
Berkeley-Carey match there, for it was only in 1595 that this was
arranged, after negotiations for Lord Herbert, afterwards Earl of Pem
broke, had fallen through, and the Berkeley family chronicler definitely
places the beginnings of affection between the young couple in the
autumn of that year (Collins, Sydney Papers, i. 353, 372 ; T. Smyth,
Lives of the Berkeley s, ii. 383, 395).

E. K. CHAMBERS.

OLIVER ELTON 161

HELENA

ALL'S WELL ! — Nay, Spirit, was it well that she,
Thy clear-eyed favourite, the wise, the rare,
The * rose of youth ', must her deep heart lay bare,

And Helen wait on Bertram's contumely ?

Must Love's own humble, dauntless devotee
Make Night accomplice, and, a changeling, dare
The loveless love-encounter, and prepare

To tread the brink of shame ? May all this be,

And all end well ? — That Spirit, from his seat
Elysian, seems to murmur : * Sometimes know,

In Love's unreason hidden, Nature's voice;
In Love's resolve, Her will ; and though his feet
Walk by wild ways precipitous, yet, so

Love's self be true, Love may at last rejoice.'

OLIVER ELTON.
UNIVERSITY OF LIVERPOOL.

M

162 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

TO OLIVI4

1 If music be the food of love, play on.'

Twelfth Night, ACT I, Scene i.

WHAT wilt thou give me ? Thou canst give me naught ;

Thou hast denied the honey of thy lips,
Thou dared'st not offer what my sick heart sought,

Love's full awakening and apocalypse.
If much thou gav'st, 'twas but a beggar's fee :

Or if but little, 'twas a winter's smile,
A mockery of friendliness — the while

Thy heart was set on dreams more worthy thee.

Half-given and half-withdrawn, thy kindness fell
Athwart my aching and tempestuous need

Like the lone note of some forgotten bell,

Which swings its message faint across the mead —

Sound heard in stillness through the vacant air,
An echo of dead passion and despair.

W. L. COURTNEY 163

II

Yet, for I love thee so, I needs must cling

To the old haunts, albeit the trees are bare,
And in the ruined branches no birds sing

Mid death and desolation everywhere.
The shadow of my presence at thy door

Thou canst not banish to forgetfulness :
My footfall echoes ghost-like on thy floor,

And scarce-heard voices whisper my distress,

Spurn if thou wilt — and still my patient heart
Is humbler than the humblest to adore

Whatever thy fancy scatters from its store
Of happiness or grief, content or smart :

I only ask a momentary grace —

To see once more the wonder of thy face !

W. L. COURTNEY.

M 2

164 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

FESTE THE JESTER

LEAR'S Fool stands in a place apart— a sacred place ; but, of Shake
speare's other Fools,1 Feste, the so-called Clown in Twelfth Night, has
always lain nearest to my heart. He is not, perhaps, more amusing than
Touchstone, to whom I bow profoundly in passing ; but I love him
more.

Whether Lear's Fool was not slightly touched in his wits is dis
putable. Though Touchstone is both sane and wise, we sometimes
wonder what would happen if he had to shift for himself. Here and
there he is ridiculous as well as humorous ; we laugh at him, and not
only with him. We never laugh at Feste. He would not dream of
marrying Audrey. Nobody would hint that he was a ' natural ' or
propose to * steal ' him (A. Y. L. 1. 1. ii. 52, 57 ; iii. 131). He is as sane
as his mistress ; his position considered, he cannot be called even
eccentric, scarcely even flighty ; and he possesses not only the ready
wit required by his profession, and an intellectual agility greater than
it requires, but also an insight into character and into practical situations
so swift and sure that he seems to supply, in fuller measure than any of
Shakespeare's other Fools, the poet's own comment on the story. He
enters, and at once we know that Maria's secret is no secret to him. She
warns him that he will be hanged for playing the truant. * Many a good
hanging ', he replies, ' prevents a bad marriage ' ; and if Maria wants

1 I mean the Fools proper, i. e. professional jesters attached to a court or house. In
effect they are but four, Touchstone, Feste, Lavache in All 's Well, and Lear's Fool ; for it
is not clear that Trinculo is the court-jester, and the Clown in Othello, like the Fool
(a brothel-fool) in Timon, has but a trivial part. Neither humorists like Launce and
Launcelot Gobbo, nor 'low' characters, unintentionally humorous, like the old peasant
at the end of Antony and Cleopatra or the young shepherd called 'clown' in The
Winter's Tale, are Fools proper. The distinction is quite clear, but it tends to be obscured
for readers because the wider designation ' clown ' is applied to persons of either class in the
few lists of Dramatis Personae printed in the Folio, in the complete lists of our modern
editions, and also, alike in these editions and in the Folio, in stage-directions and in the
headings of speeches. Such directions and headings were meant for the actors, and the
principal comic man of the company doubtless played both Launce and Feste. Feste,
I may observe, is called ' Clown ' in the stage-directions and speech-headings, but in the
text always ' Fool '. Lear's Fool is ' Fool ' even in the former.

A. C. BRADLEY 165

an instance of a bad marriage, she soon gets it : ' Well, go thy way ;
if Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's
flesh as any in Illyria.' (Gervinus, on the contrary, regarded this
marriage as a judgement on Sir Toby ; but then Gervinus, though a
most respectable critic, was no Fool.) Maria departs and Olivia enters.
Her brother is dead, and she wears the deepest mourning and has
announced her intention of going veiled and weeping her loss every
day for seven years. But, in Feste's view, her state of mind would be
rational only if she believed her brother's soul to be in hell ; and he
does not conceal his opinion. The Duke comes next, and, as his manner
ruffles Feste, the mirror of truth is held firmly before him too : * Now,
the melancholy god protect thee, and the tailor make thy doublet of
changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal.' In these encounters
we admire the Fool's wisdom the more because it makes no impression
on his antagonists, who regard it as mere foolery. And his occasional
pregnant sayings and phrases meet the same fate. His assertion that he
is the better for his foes and the worse for his friends the Duke takes
for a mere absurdity or an inadvertence of expression, though he is
tickled by Feste 's proof of his affirmation through double negation.1
The philosopher may speak to Sebastian of * this great lubber the
world ' ; he may tell Viola how * foolery, sir, does walk about the orb
like the sun ; it shines everywhere ' ; he may remark to the whole
company how * the whirligig of time brings in his revenges ' ; but
nobody heeds him. Why should any one heed a man who gets his living
by talking nonsense, and who may be whipped if he displeases his
employer ?

All the agility of wit and fancy, all the penetration and wisdom,
which Feste shows in his calling, would not by themselves explain our
feeling for him. But his mind to him a kingdom is, and one full of
such present joys that he finds contentment there. Outwardly he may
be little better than a slave ; but Epictetus was a slave outright and
yet absolutely free : and so is Feste. That world of quibbles which
are pointless to his audience, of incongruities which nobody else can see,

1 Feste's statement of his proot can hardly be called lucid, and his illustration
(' conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives ') seems
to have cost the commentators much fruitless labour. If anything definite was in the
Fool's mind it may have been this. The gentleman asks for a kiss. The lady, denying it,
exclaims 'No no no no.' But, as the first negative (an adjective) negates the second
(a substantive), and the third in like manner the fourth, these four negatives yield two
enthusiastic affirmatives, and the gentleman, thanks to the power of logic, gets twice what he
asked for. This is not Feste's only gird at the wisdom of the schools. It has been gravely
surmised that he was educated for the priesthood and, but for some escapade, would have
played Sir Topas in earnest.

MS

i66 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

of flitting fancies which he only cares to pursue, is his sunny realm.
He is alone when he invents that aphorism of Quinapalus and builds
his hopes on it ; and it was not merely to get sixpence from Sir Andrew
that he told of Pigrogromitus and the Vapians passing the equinoctial
of Queubus. He had often passed it in that company himself. Maria
and Sir Toby (who do enjoy his more obvious jests) are present when,
clothed in the curate's gown and beard, he befools the imprisoned
Malvolio so gloriously ; but the prisoner is his only witness when, for
his own sole delight, himself as Sir Topas converses with himself the
Fool. But for this inward gaiety he could never have joined with all
his heart in the roaring revelry of Sir Toby ; but he does not need this
revelry, and, unlike Sir Toby and Sir Toby's surgeon, he remains
master of his senses. Having thus a world of his own, and being lord
of himself, he cares little for Fortune. His mistress may turn him away ;
but, * to be turned away, let summer bear it out.1 This * sunshine of
the breast ' is always with him and spreads its radiance over the whole
scene in which he moves. And so we love him.

We have another reason. The Fool's voice is as melodious as the
' sweet content ' of his soul. To think of him is to remember * Come
away, come away, Death ', and * O Mistress mine ', and * When that I
was ', and fragments of folk-song and ballad, and a catch that * makes
the welkin dance indeed '. To think of Twelfth Night is to think of
music. It opens with instrumental music and ends with a song.
All Shakespeare's best praise of music, except the famous passage in
The Merchant of Venice, occurs in it. And almost all the music and the
praise of music come from Feste or have to do with Feste. In this he
stands alone among Shakespeare's Fools ; and that this, with the in
fluence it has on our feeling for him, was intended by the poet, should
be plain. It is no accident that, when the Duke pays him for his * pains '
in singing, he answers, * No pains, sir ; I take pleasure in singing, sir ' ;
that the revelry for which he risks punishment is a revelry of song ;
that, when he is left alone, he still sings. And, all this being so, I venture
to construe in the light of it what has seemed strange to me in the passage
that follows the singing of * Come away '. Usually, when Feste receives
his ' gratillity ', he promptly tries to get it doubled ; but here he not
only abstains from any such effort but is short, if not disagreeably sharp,
with the Duke. The fact is, he is offended, even disgusted ; and offended,
not as Fool, but as music-lover and artist. We others know what the
Duke said beforehand of the song, but Feste does not know it. Now he
sings, and his soul is in the song. Yet, as the last note dies away, the
comment he hears from this noble aesthete is, ' There 's for thy pains ' !

A. C. BRADLEY 167

I have a last grace to notice in our wise, happy, melodious Fool.
He was little injured by his calling. He speaks as he likes ; but
from first to last, whether he is revelling or chopping logic] or playing
with words, and to whomsoever he speaks or sings, he keeps his tongue
free from obscenity. The fact is in accord with the spirit of this
ever-blessed play, which could not have endured the * foul-mouthed '
Fool of All 's Welly and from which Aldis Wright in his school edition
found, I think, but three lines (not the Fool's) to omit. But the trait is
none the less characteristic of Feste, and we like him the better for it.

It remains to look at another side of the whole matter. One is
scarcely sorry for Touchstone, but one is very sorry for Feste, and pity,
though not a painful pity, heightens our admiration and deepens our
sympathy. The position of the professional jester we must needs feel
to be more or less hard, if not of necessity degrading. In Feste 's case
it is peculiarly hard. He is perfectly sane, and there is nothing to show
that he is unfit for independence. In important respects he is, more
than Shakespeare's other fools, superior in mind to his superiors in
rank. And he has no Celia, no Countess, no Lear, to protect or love
him. He had been Fool to Olivia's father, who * took much delight
in him ' ; but Olivia, though not unkind, cannot be said to love him.
We find him, on his first appearance, in disgrace and (if Maria is right)
in danger of being punished or even turned away. His mistress, entering,
tells him that he is a dry fool, that she'll no more of him, and (later)
that his fooling grows old and people dislike it. Her displeasure, doubt
less, has a cause, and it is transient, but her words are none the less signi
ficant. Feste is a relic of the past. The steward, a person highly
valued by his lady, is Feste 's enemy. Though Maria likes him and,
within limits, would stand his friend, there is no tone of affection in
her words to him, and certainly none in those of any other person. We
cannot but feel very sorry for him.

This peculiar position explains certain traits in Feste himself which
might otherwise diminish our sympathy. One is that he himself, though
he shows no serious malevolence even to his enemy, shows no affection
for any one. His liking for Maria does not amount to fondness. He
enjoys drinking and singing with Sir Toby, but despises his drunken
ness and does not care for him. His attitude to strangers is decidedly
cool, and he does not appear to be attracted even by Viola. The fact is,
he recognizes very clearly that, as this world goes, a man whom nobody
loves must look out for himself. Hence (this is the second trait) he is
a shameless beggar, much the most so of Shakespeare's Fools. He is
fully justified, and he begs so amusingly that we welcome his begging ;

168 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

but shameless it is. But he is laying up treasures on earth against the
day when some freak of his own, or some whim in his mistress, will
bring his dismissal, and the short summer of his freedom will be followed
by the wind and the rain. And so, finally, he is as careful as his love of
fun will allow to keep clear of any really dangerous enterprise. He
must join in the revel of the knights and the defiance of the steward ;
but from the moment when Malvolio retires with a threat to Maria, and
Maria begins to expound her plot against him, Feste keeps silence ;
and, though she expressly assigns him a part in the conspiracy, he takes
none. The plot succeeds magnificently, and Malvolio is shut up, chained
as a lunatic, in a dark room ; and that comic genius Maria has a new
scheme, which requires the active help of the Fool. But her words,
* Nay, I prithee, put on this gown and this beard/ show that he objects ;
and if his hesitation is momentary, it is not merely because the tempta
tion is strong. For, after all, he runs but little risk, since Malvolio
cannot see him, and he is a master in the management of his voice. And
so, agreeing with Sir Toby's view that their sport cannot with safety
be pursued to the upshot, after a while, when he is left alone with the
steward, he takes steps to end it and consents, in his own voice, to pro
vide the lunatic with light, pen, ink, and paper for his letter to Olivia.
We are not offended by Feste 's eagerness for sixpences and his
avoidance of risks. By helping us to realize the hardness of his lot, they
add to our sympathy and make us admire the more the serenity and
gaiety of his spirit. And at the close of the play these feelings reach
their height. He is left alone ; for Lady Belch, no doubt, is by her
husband's bed-side, and the thin-faced gull Sir Andrew has vanished,
and the rich and noble lovers with all their attendants have streamed
away to dream of the golden time to come, without a thought of the
poor jester. There is no one to hear him sing ; but what does that
matter ? He takes pleasure in singing. And a song comes into his
head ; an old rude song about the stages of man's life, in each of which
the rain rains every day ; a song at once cheerful and rueful, stoical and
humorous ; and this suits his mood and he sings it. But, since he is
even more of a philosopher than the author of the song, and since, after
all, he is not merely a Fool but the actor who is playing that part in a
theatre, he adds at the end a stanza of his own :

A great while ago the world begun,

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain;
But that's all one, our play is done,
And we'll strive to please you every day.1

1 Those who witnessed, some years ago, Mr. Granville Barker's production of

A. C. BRADLEY 169

Shakespeare himself, I feel sure, added that stanza to the old song ;
and when he came to write King Lear he, I think, wrote yet another,
which Feste might well have sung. To the immortal words,

Poor Fool and knave, I have one part in my heart
That's sorry yet for thee,

the Fool replies,

He that has and a little tiny wit,

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
Must make content with his fortunes fit,

Though the rain it raineth every day.

So Shakespeare brings the two Fools together ; and, whether or no he
did this wittingly, I am equally grateful to him. But I cannot be grateful
to those critics who see in Feste 's song only an illustration of the bad
custom by which sometimes, when a play was finished, the clown
remained, or appeared, on the stage to talk nonsense or to sing some
old * trash * ; nor yet to those who tell us that it was * the players ' who
tacked this particular * trash ' to the end of Twelfth Night. They may
conceivably be right in perceiving no difference between the first four
stanzas and the last, but they cannot possibly be right in failing to
perceive how appropriate the song is to the singer, and how in the line

But that 's all one, our play is done,

he repeats an expression used a minute before in his last speech.1 We
owe these things, not to the players, but to that player in Shakespeare's
company who was also a poet, to Shakespeare himself — the same Shake
speare who perhaps had hummed the old song, half-ruefully and half-
cheerfully, to its accordant air, as he walked home alone to his lodging
from the theatre or even from some noble's mansion ; he who, looking
down from an immeasurable height on the mind of the public and the
noble, had yet to be their servant and jester, and to depend upon their
favour ; not wholly uncorrupted by this dependence, but yet superior
to it and, also, determined, like Feste, to lay by the sixpences it brought
him, until at last he could say the words, * Our revels now are ended/
and could break — was it a magician's staff or a Fool's bauble ?

Twelfth Night and Mr. Hay den Coffin's presentment ot the Fool's part must always
remember them with great pleasure, and not least the singing of this song.

1 ' I was one, sir, in this interlude ; one Sir Topas, sir ; but that 's all one' No edition
that I have consulted notices the repetition.

A. C. BRADLEY.

170 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

<BITS OF TIMBER: SOME OBSERVATIONS ON

SHAK^SPEA^AN 2(AMES—< SHTLOCK' ;

'TOLOWJUS'; 'MALVOLIO*

I

SHAKESPEARE in The Merchant of Venice, as elsewhere, unconsciously
divined the germ of the myth on which his genius worked. Endless
analogues are quoted for the two stories blended in the play ; and we
know Shakespeare's debt to the Pecorone of Ser Giovanni Fiorentino
and the rest. The legend, I feel sure, represents an early homilist's
attempt to exemplify the two texts : * Greater love hath no man than
this, that a man lay down his life for his friends/ and ' Christ also loved
the church and gave himself for it '. The vivid exposition of these
texts produced in due course the legend of * the Pound of Flesh ',
and * the Wooing of the Lady '. Under the cover of a similitude —
a different allegory — the texts are well expounded in the early English
book known as The Nuns9 Rule ; and the teacher there adds, in order to
drive home the lesson, * Do not men account him a good friend who
layeth his pledge in Jewry to release his companion ? God Almighty
laid himself in Jewry for us,' &C.1

The older play on the subject, shown in London at the Bull before
1580, may well have contained some abstract characters, linking it to the
Morality drama. Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice, starting as a study
of usury, in its treatment of the theme gives glimpses of the suggested
origin of the legend ; and the play is rightly named after the Merchant,
whose part is one of simple dignity, and not after Shy lock, the predomi
nant character of the play. Portia's great plea for mercy, epitomizing
a whole Moral play, reveals, as it were, the inmost significance of the
Lady of Belmont, as originally personifying the soul, or salvation, or the
Church, and links her to the far-spread beautiful allegory of * The Four
Daughters of God '.2

1 Ancren Riwle, ed. Morton (Camden Society), p. 394 ; the date of the book is
about 1225.

2 From this point of view it is interesting to recall such earlier plays as The Three
Ladies of London, and The Three Lords and Three Ladies of London, by Robert Wilson.

I. GOLLANCZ 171

A contemporary of Shakespeare, Joseph Fletcher, saw something of
this aspect of the play, in his poem, Christ's Bloodie Sweat, 1613 : —

He died indeed, not as an actor dies,

To die today, and live again tomorrow,

In shew to please the audience, or disguise

The idle habit of inforced sorrow :

The cross his stage was, and he played the part
Of one that for his friend did pawn his heart.

Various speculations have been hazarded as to the origin of the
name * Shylock '. ' Caleb Shillocke, his prophecie,' often adduced, is
later than the play ; and the suggested connexion with Scialac — ' a
Maronite of Mount Lebanon ' living in 1614, hardly commends itself
to serious consideration, nor do the other theories propounded.

Whether Shakespeare or his predecessor gave the name to the
character cannot be absolutely determined ; but in view of the poet's
careful choice of names, and especially of other names in the play, the
inference points to him.

The book which was read by Elizabethans for everything relating
to the later Jewish history, and which went through edition after edition,
was Peter Morwyng's translation of the pseudo-Josephus, * A com
pendious and most marveylous History of the latter Times of the Jewes
Commune Weale.' The influence of this book on Elizabethan literature
would repay careful study. Malone already suggested that some lines
in King John may well have been derived from Morwyng's * History ' : —

Do like the mutines of Jerusalem,
Be friends awhile and both conjointly bend
Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town. . . .
That done, dissever your united strengths,
And part your mingled colours once again.1

In Marlowe's Jew of Malta, and elsewhere in the plays of Eliza
bethan dramatists, the influence of the book can be detected.

Near the beginning of the * History ' we read : * About that time
it was signified also to them of Jerusalem that the Askalonites had
entered in friendship with the Romans. They sent therefore Neger
the Edomite, and Schiloch the Babylonian, and Jehochanan, with a power
of the common people ; these came to Askalon, and besieged it a great
space. Within the town was a Roman captaine called Antonius,* a
valiant man, and a good warrior.' This passage may well account for
* Shylock ' ; and possibly also for * Antonio '.

1 King John^ II. i. 378. 2 Elsewhere always ' Antonie'.

172 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

The name of Marlowe's Jew of Malta, * Barabas,' is easily under
stood. But why should * Shiloch ' be chosen for the Jew of Venice ?
I am strongly inclined to explain the use of the name as due to the quite
erroneous association of * Shiloch ' with * Shallach ', the Biblical Hebrew
for ' cormorant ', the bird that ' swoops ', or dives after its prey. It came
into the lists of biblical animals and into glossaries from Leviticus xi. 17
where it is mentioned among the forbidden fowls * to be held in abomina
tion '. In Elizabethan English * cormorant ' was an expressive synonym
for ' usurer * ; and perhaps the best commentary on the use of the word
may be drawn from John Taylor's Satires, entitled The Water-Cor
morant his complaint against a brood of Land-Cormorants, published
in 1622. The same mind that chose ' Jessica ', * Iscah the daughter
of Haran ', and so well emphasized the supposed significance of the name
as * she that looketh out ', and that created almost a special English idiom
for Shy lock, evidently knew the peculiar force of the words * to bait
fish withal', uttered by his Cormorant Usurer — the Cormorant of
a fictitious legend, having its starting-point in the attempt vividly
to exemplify the biblical texts already quoted — a legendary mon
strosity fraught with all the greater possibilities inasmuch as at that
time Jews were not yet permitted to reside in England, and there
was still the traditional popular prejudice. From this point of view,
the play must be considered in connexion with the considerable
Elizabethan literature on Usury ; the question then at issue being
whether, from religious as well as from moral and economic standpoints,
Englishmen were justified in taking * usances ', often exorbitant as
would appear from contemporary references.

Shakespeare's humanity and understanding saved Shylock from
being the mere Cormorant-monster. It is not enough to contrast him
— however favourably — with his prototype * The Jew of Malta '. De
spised, maddened by the sense of wrong, obsessed by the fixed idea of
claiming his due at all costs, he has kinship with the type of tragic
character best represented by Hieronimo, the wronged and demented
father, who in The Spanish Tragedy madly achieves, at the cost of
his very life, the vengeance on which he has set his whole jangled
mind.

Lorenzo is Shakespeare's mouthpiece for the lesson of the play ;
and it is enunciated by him to Shy lock's daughter, who was lost to
her father more cruelly than was the slain Horatio to the distraught
Hieronimo. Jessica, * she who looked out ' beyond her father's home,
by her heartless defection goaded him to Hieronimo-like distraction.

I. GOLLANCZ 173

To her, the ' Juliet J of the play, this lesser Romeo expounds the
lofty doctrine of mystic harmony : —

Such harmony is in immortal souls ;
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.

II

The question of the name * Polonius ' opens up a fascinating line
of investigation, and it is many years ago since first my curiosity was
whetted to discover why it was that Shakespeare deliberately changed
the name of the character from * Corambis ', as it appears in the First
Quarto, to * Polonius ' in the authorized version of Hamlet. Why the
change, and what the origin and significance of the names ? The sub
stitution of * Falstaff ' for * Oldcastle ' in Henry IV is abundant proof
that such variations merit investigation. The name * Corambis ', or
more correctly * Corambus ', the form found in the early German version
of Fratricide Punished, and as a passing name in Shakespeare's All 's Well
that Ends Well, is, I feel sure, the creation of the author of the pre-
Shakespearian Hamlet, who, if Kyd, made a characteristic use of his

* little Latin ' by cleverly re-Latinizing crambe (with its popular variant
Crambo) used in contemporary English for twice-cooked cabbage,
i.e. tedious and unpleasant iteration, with reference to the Latin phrase
Crambe repetita (cp. Occidit miser os crambe repetita magistros). ' Cor-
ambe ' and variants are found in Latin-English dictionaries of the
period. * Corambis ' or * Corambus ', therefore, was merely, as it were,

* old Crambo ', an excellent name for the inherent characteristic of the
Counsellor, who in the original of the story, as told by Saxo Grammaticus
in the Danish History, had exalted ideas of his own profound astuteness,
for which he paid the heavy penalty. Evidently the possibilities of the
character were effectively developed by the earlier dramatist ; and one
may hazard the conjecture that the character was so set forth as to portray
some marked characteristics of Elizabeth's aged Counsellor, the great
statesman Burleigh, for whom contemporary men of letters had but
scant reverence. Spenser's scorn of Burleigh in The Ruins of Time and
Mother Hubbard's Tale, 1591, finds an echo in the writings of many a
contemporary author :

O griefe of griefes, 6 gall of all good heartes,

To see that vertue should dispised bee,

Of him, that first was raisde for vertuous parts,

174 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

And now broad spreading like an aged tree,
Lets none shoot up, that nigh him planted bee:
O let the man, of whom the Muse is scorned,
Nor aliue, nor dead be of the Muse adorned.

We know that The Ruins of Time was * called in ', and that, when in 1611
the First Folio of Spenser 's Poems (minus Mother HubbarcTs Tale, how
ever) was published, the obnoxious passage was toned down, so as to be
general and not specific in its application.

Burleigh died in 1598 ; and his son Robert Cecil became one of the
foremost men of the State. We may certainly assume that the change
of name from * Corambis ' to * Polonius ' was made by Shakespeare
soon after 1598 when he was still transforming the older play ; and that
he was anxious to make it clear that his Counsellor (Second Quarto oddly
reads * Counsel, as Polonius ') was not to be associated in the public
mind with the earlier caricature of the great statesman who had gone
to his rest. It is noteworthy that there are no very essential differences
between the general utterances of Corambis in the First Quarto and those
of Polonius in the Second Quarto ; and the inference would be either
that Shakespeare in his early revision of the old play had taken over the
name, or that the old popular name * Corambis ' was attached to the
character, instead of * Polonius ', by the unauthorized purloiners
answerable for the publication of the First Quarto.

It is to be noted that one of the most popular books of its kind in
England at this time, and famous throughout Europe — a work somehow
or other overlooked by previous investigators 1 — was an exhaustive
manual for counsellors and diplomatists, entitled De Optimo Senator e
(Venice, 1568 ; Basle, 1593, &c.) by perhaps the greatest Polish states
man of the age, Laurentius Grimalius Goslicius, Bishop of Posen.
An English translation, entitled * The Counsellor', appeared in 1598,
the very year that Burleigh died. Its long descriptive title sets forth
the contents of the book :

A golden work replenished with the chief learning of the most excellent philosophers
and lawgivers, and not only profitable but very necessary for all those that be admitted to
the administration of a well-governed Commonweal; written in Latin by Laurentius
Grimaldus (stc)^ and consecrated to the honour of the Polonian Empire.

Another English translation of a portion of the work is to be found in
the British Museum.2 But, apart from the English translation, the

1 See summary of a paper read by me before the British Academy, April 27, 1904,
Proceedings of British Academy \ vol. i.

2 Add. MSS. 18613.

I. GOLLANCZ 175

original Latin was known in England ; as may be seen from a reference
in Gabriel Harvey 's Pierces Supererogation (1593). The translation
must, however, have done much to make the work generally known.
We may feel sure that it was this translation that Shakespeare looked
into, and, to the honour of the * Polonian ' name, dubbed the counsellor
of the King of Denmark by a name which could only mean the Polonian,
or the Pole. It is strange that this book, which was so famous, and which
was re-issued and re-translated in different versions in the sixteenth,
seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries, seems altogether to have escaped
notice in modern times, until some years back, when I hazarded the
conjecture that here was to be found the solution of the problem of
* Polonius '. At the time my critics asked for evidence (which I could
not then adduce) of the alleged popularity of the work in question ; but
since then I have been able from contemporary evidence to satisfy
criticism on this point. A Polish historian of the time, secretary to
King Stephen, addressing Goslicius in the preface to a work published
in the year 1600, praises him for his literary achievements, and — writing
of course in Latin — adds a special commendation in respect of his work
De Optimo Senatore 'than which ', he says, * according to report, no work
in England is more delighted in, or more thumbed ' : —

Unus ille de optimo Senatore liber tuus, quantam non modo tibi sed et cunctae genti
nostrae conciliaverit gloriam, arbitror dubitare neminem, quum sincere quidam mihi dixerit,
nullius libentius, quam ilium librum in Anglia teri in manibus hominum, de optimo senatore.1

There was a continued tradition in England concerning this work.
In 1604, the year in which Grimalius died, a second edition appeared
of the English translation, or, more likely, some copies of the old book
with a new title-page. In 1660, there was published in English without
the slightest indication of its being a translated work, the greater part
of The Sage Senator, to which was ' annexed the new Models of Modern
Policy, by J. G.' In 1733, Oldisworth, the political pamphleteer, issued
an elaborate English translation, with a lengthy and enthusiastic, though
inaccurate, introduction. In the Preface he states that in his work ' the
Author has traced his Senator from the cradle to the School, and thence
to the University, the Camp, the Bar, and the Bench of Justice. He has
followed him in all his travels, and through every stage and period of

1 I find the passage quoted in a small Latin dissertation on Goslicius, by Romanus
Lopinski (Halle, 1872), p. 49. There is, of course, no idea on the part of the author that
the quotation bore on this theory. In a lecture at the Royal Institution on February 26, 1914,
the second of two lectures dealing with ' Hamlet in Legend and Drama ', I first called atten
tion to this valuable corroboration, for which I had been long seeking.

176 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

his private and public life, to his last and highest attainment as a
Minister of State*.

The Counsellor is in two Books ; at the end of Book I the
author admits the possibility * of wearying the reader's mind and thereby
becoming tedious '. * This is too long ' — as Polonius observed with
reference to the Player's Speech.

A summary of the work is beyond the limits of a brief Note ; but
a few passages may be quoted by way of illustration :

1 1 do therefore think expedient that in the person ot our Counsellor there should be
such ripeness of age as might exercise the virtues beseeming so honourable a personage, and
in his calling hold so great a gravity and reputation as all other citizens and subjects may
hope at his hand to receive comfort, quiet, and counsel profitable to the whole commonwealth.1

*Our Counsellor then, instructed in the precepts of Philosophy, shall not from thence
forth be shut up, &c.'

4 The Commonwealth therefore requireth the counsel of some notable and divine man,
in whom it may repose the care of her happiness and well-doing. By his direction and
government all perils, sedition, discords, mutations and inclinations may be suppressed, and
thereby enjoy a happy peace and tranquility.'

4 It behoveth him to be witty, docile, of good memory, of sound understanding,
circumspect, provident, wary, and wily.'

'Let the Counsellor know his own wit.'

4 Our Counsellor should be circumspect, not only in those things which do happen
privately, but also in every other that may be hurtful to the Commonwealth.1

Many other passages may be adduced showing how Counsellors

... Of wisdom and of reach,

With windlasses and with assays of bias,

By indirections find directions out.

But it is not merely to the words and character of Polonius that
suggestive parallels may be found in this Manual. Some of the most
striking chapters of the book are devoted to man as a creature endowed
with reason, and some of the loftiest sentiments of Hamlet sound to me
like echoes from passages in the work, notably the famous words :

* What a piece of work is man ! how noble in reason ! how infinite in faculty ! in
form and moving how express and admirable ! in action how like an angel ! in apprehension
how like a god ! the beauty of the world ! the paragon of animals ! ' x

With this speech of Hamlet, compare the following :

' Among all creatures contained within the circle of the earth, that which we call man
is the chiefest and of most reputation, for he alone of all other living things of what nature

1 The First Quarto seems to give a garbled version of the lines as we have them in the
Second Quarto.

I. GOLLANCZ

177

soever is made not only an inhabitant and citizen of the world, but also a lord and prince

therein.'

' Reason doth make men like unto God.'

* The wise man by his virtue resembleth the likeness of God.'

1 But what is that which in man is most excellent ? Surely Reason ! '

4 The chief duty of man is to know that his original proceedeth from God, and from

Him to have received Reason, whereby he resembleth his Maker. But for that the Reason

of man is shut up within the body as a prison whereby it knoweth not itself, it behoveth the

mind to break forth from that place of restraint, and to win liberty.'

Measure for Measure was written about the same time as Hamlet.
It should be noted that a section of Grimalius's work was on the respon
sibilities of the counsellor as judge, and some of the most striking
passages in the book have reference to magistrates good and bad. * The
evil example of magistrates works more ill than their virtues work good/
wrote Goslicius, and he amplifies the theme. Shakespeare, who had
already, with lighter touch, portrayed vain and testy magistrates, now
in Hamletian mood portrayed ' Angelo ' — the Counsellor * most still,
most secret, and most grave ' — deputy of the Duke, whom he supposed
travelled to Poland. The very spirit of Goslicius seems to speak through
Shakespeare in the famous words :

He who the sword of heaven will bear
Should be as holy as severe.

Ill

It is generally admitted that the * Befooling of Malvolio ' — the
comic interlude in Twelfth Night, or, What You Will — is Shakespeare's
own invention, grafted upon a romantic Italian love-story. ' Malevolti '
is the nearest form of the name discovered in the possible sources or
analogies of the main plot ; ' Malvolio ' looks like a parallel to ' Ben-
volio '. The character is obviously topical, as are also Sir Toby and
Aguecheek. In view of the fondness of the Elizabethans, and Shake
speare in particular, of playing upon * Will ', Malvolio may well stand for
* 111 Will '. Nothing has been adduced against the theory hazarded by
me some years ago that finds the original of Malvolio in Sir Ambrose
Willoughby, Queen Elizabeth's Chief Sewer and Squire of the Presence,
whose quarrel with the Earl of Southampton is referred to in a letter
(printed in the Sydney Papers) from Rowland White, dated January,
1598:

' The quarrel of my Lord Southampton to Ambrose Willoughby,' he wrote on
January 21, 'grew upon this: that he with Sir Walter Raleigh and Mr. Parker being at
primero in the Presence Chamber; the Queen was gone to bed, and he being there as
Squire for the Body, desired them to give over. Soon after he spoke to them again, that
if they would not leave he would call in the guard to pull down the board, which,

178 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

Sir Walter Raleigh seeing1, put up his money and went his ways. But my Lord
Southampton took exceptions at him, and told him he would remember it ; and so
finding him between the Tennis Court wall and the garden shook him, and Willoughby
pulled out some of his locks. The Queen gave Wiiloughby thanks for what he did in his
Presence, and told him he had done better if he had sent him to the Porter's Lodge to see
who durst have fetched him out.'

The quarrel was evidently the occasion of much gossip. South
ampton kept away from the court for a time, and found comfort in
witnessing plays. What more likely than that his devotee Shakespeare
should cleverly utilize the incident ? It would have been a congenial
task to hit off on the stage the pretentious Squire of the Presence. The
Fourth Scene of the Second Act of the play (' Do ye make an alehouse
of my lady's house/ &c.) may well illustrate Shakespeare's manner of
transforming the incident, without losing the essential traits which might
make the caricature recognizable.

If this theory of * Malvolio ' is correct, the original performance of
the play points to Twelfth Night, 1599. The date generally assigned,

* about 1600 ' to this and other comedies is, in my opinion, too late.
Twelfth Night was evidently written before (not after) the tragic fall of
Essex and Southampton.

Ambrose Willoughby was the second son of Charles, Baron Wil
loughby of Parham. As early as 1589 he is described in State Papers

* as one of the Sewers of her Majesty's own table ' ; but in 1593 he
received the life-appointment as Sewer — an office previously held by
Sir Henry Brooke alias Cobham, Sir Percival Hart, and Sir Edward
Nevill. In June 1602 Willoughby had a violent quarrel with Grey
Brydges (later Lord Chandos), and * was hurt in the head and body, for
abusing his father and himself at a conference of arbitrement 'twixt them
and Mistress Brydges', i.e. Elizabeth, Grey's first cousin, who claimed
part of the family estates. Willoughby seems to have borne * ill-will '
towards Grey and his father, both of them friends of Essex, and to some
extent implicated in the insurrection. The friends of Essex and South
ampton would not regard with much favour Elizabeth's Squire of the
Presence. On James's accession, when Southampton was set free,
Willoughby was relieved of his office, surrendering it * voluntarily ' to

* the King's beloved Servant Sir Thomas Penruddock '.

The cumulative evidence seems fully to justify the claim that the
passage in Rowland White's letter gives us the needful clue to the
personality of * Malvolio ', and thus to the date of the composition of
the play, as being before Twelfth Night, 1599, possibly with slight
additions later.

I. GOLLANCZ.

W. W. GREG 179

CT(iriCAL

THERE is a point in connexion with the players' play in Hamlet,
which, if significant at all, has certainly not received from commentators
the attention it deserves. The orthodox and obvious interpretation of
the action is, of course, familiar. King Claudius, who has disposed of
his brother and predecessor by the very peculiar device of pouring poison
into his ears, is witnessing the performance of a play which Hamlet
facetiously calls the * Mousetrap '. This reproduces in a remarkably
complete manner the circumstances of his own crime, and when the
critical moment arrives and he sees the most intimate details of his action
represented before the assembled court, his nerve gives way and he
rushes terror-stricken from the hall. It should be observed that his
alarm must be ascribed solely to the action of the play, for the language
is in no way significant.

Now, this interpretation is open to a most serious objection. For
the play itself is preceded by a dumb-show in which the whole action
of the piece is minutely set forth. So far as the action is concerned,
and it is the action alone that is significant, the play proper adds nothing
new whatever. Consequently, on the assumptions usually made, either
the King must have betrayed himself over the dumb-show, or there is
no conceivable reason why he should betray himself at all. Incidentally
I must point out that there is no getting rid of the dumb-show, for not
only is the textual tradition unassailable, but the spectators are actually
made to comment upon this unusual feature of the performance.

So far as I can see there are only two possible lines for criticism to
take. Either Shakespeare blundered badly in the crucial scene of the
play, or else the orthodox interpretation is wrong. If the former, there

1 Before the outbreak of war made unwonted claims on the activities of so many
harmless students, I had drafted a somewhat elaborate study of the problem propounded in
the present note. But the criticisms of various friends to whom I submitted it convinced
me that my presentation of the case required considerable modification before it could be
passed as even moderately satisfactory. Not having found time for the necessary revision,
I take this opportunity for a bald statement of the problem, hoping in a happier future to
return to the subject at greater length.

i8o A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

is no more to be said : but if logic goes for anything in dramatic criticism,
then it follows from the action of the scene that it is not the stage
poisoning that upsets the King, and consequently that Claudius did
not poison his brother in the manner represented. But this im
mediately leads to a far more important conclusion. If the King did
not murder his predecessor by pouring poison into his ears, then the
account of the affair given by the Ghost to Hamlet is untrue, in other
words the Ghost's narrative is not a revelation from the dead but
a figment of Hamlet's brain.

It will be obvious how important are the implications of this view
and what difficulties are involved in its acceptance. I have not yet
satisfied myself as to the exact nature of the implications or as to the
exact extent of the difficulties, and I therefore put forward this note
rather as a suggestion than as a formal proposition. On two cardinal
points, however, I think I can indicate the direction in which a solution
may be found.

We have for one thing to account for the obvious fact that the King
does actually interrupt the performance of the players at the very
moment of the murder. To Hamlet this is, of course, proof positive
of the truth of his suspicions ; but a careful examination of the scene
will, I think, show that ample explanation of the King's action is afforded
by the wild and menacing behaviour of Hamlet himself. Then there
is the ghostly interview to be considered. Is this scene, upon the
orthodox assumptions, so satisfactory as to make us reject any alterna
tive ? Hardly : and to my mind an analysis of the Ghost's narrative
supplies the very strongest and strangest confirmation of the theory here
proposed. For it can, I believe, be shown that every point in the
pretended revelation is but the reflection of something that we either
know, or can reasonably infer, to be present in Hamlet's own mind
including the minute and surprising details of the murder itself.

W. W. GREG.

R. WARWICK BOND 181

1600

ANOTHER ripe and ready for the boards !

Methinks it laughs with graciousness ; and yet

Despite this ever-smiling Southwark face,

The laughter is not mine, the conquering vein

Still less ! albeit in both I please myself,

And both bring profit in a tide that swells

Above my wildest hopes. How had I hailed

This flux of fortune in the distant days

When, staggering 'neath his load, the old man groaned

O'er vanishing repute and debts unpaid,

And I could bring no succour ! 'Tis all changed :

The wheel comes fair about ; but has not brought

Oblivion of bitterness : even now

He glooms and sickens, and my pen moves slow.

Yet Anne is settled safe — Anne and her girls —

Proud of her fine new house, the most perhaps

Such husband could require ; and for the boy,

He needs our care no longer. Had I cared

While care might have availed — vain, vain ! no more !

Could a man bridle his necessities,

Tether and drive at will, there yet had been

One to inherit this quick-coming wealth,

And idle coat, whose getting spoiled a play,

Flattered the father, mother — son perchance !

But no ! while all men count me fortunate,

I cannot taste my havings, still adrought

'Mid flowing waters that assuage no thirst.

N

182 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

And these my discontents admonish me

That not the harvest but the husbandry

Is life for me — these taskmasters that urge

My doubtful steps on paths untrodden yet,

Perturbing thoughts, unanswered questionings,

That speak of life as no illuminate page,

Success, disaster, good and evil ways

Sharply divided — but a devious track

Through dark and clear, that baffles prophecy

And falsifies the forthright estimate ;

Strange scene where Fortune flings the wretch her prize,

And Good does acts that seem intolerable,

And suffers, to a purpose. Where 's the book

I fashioned, half from Kyd, and left for lack

Of leisure ? I am minded now to inscribe

Somewhat of these dim stirrings, or in that,

Or in the Roman ; they are not unlike,

Like with a difference. — Nay, 'tis almost night !

Well, I will enter Night, disdaining Day

With all her sunshine yields, and, wrestling there

With haunting shadows that beset my peace,

Find victory or defeat, and, after, rest,

If rest be granted. Haply that dim coast

Descried afar across this billowy waste

Where strong souls struggle and founder, holds some life

A man may grasp, more firm, more real than this ;

And I may reach it.

Boy, there ! hie thee quick
To the Mitre, where a company of friends
Expects me : say, I shall not come to-night.

R. WARWICK BOND,
NOTTINGHAM.

HENRY NEWBOLT 183

ON ANTONY <AND

To praise Shakespeare it is only necessary to take up any one of
the authentic plays and read it, but to praise him worthily it is necessary
to be strict with him and with ourselves. Indiscriminate adulation has
not only dishonoured many of his admirers, it has concealed and
debased Shakespeare himself as the fine lines of woodwork are con
cealed and debased by layers of paint. As to the play to be selected
there will be many opinions. If I choose Antony and Cleopatra it is not
because I find in it any character wholly sympathetic or admirable,
but because in that play and in its persons I feel Shakespeare moving
with most perfect mastery. In setting forth the story of a Hamlet, an
Imogen, a Desdemona, or the life of some generation of historic England,
he is certain of conquering us, because he has at least one point at which
his force is overwhelming, his weapon heart-piercing : but in the alien
life of the Imperial vices he must win at every turn or fail to carry us.

The difficulties appear to be immense. The story is a great story,
with all the prestige of ancient Rome and of the gorgeous East ; with
the whole known world for its stage, and the masters of the world for
its dramatis personae. Their qualities, good and bad, are such as can be
judged by any one who has watched human nature, yet they are on a
scale beyond our experience and must be shown not merely with clear
ness and intensity but with the element of greatness added. To add
this element of greatness, not only to one character, but to every character
of importance in the play, and yet to keep the voices true throughout,
would be hard for any writer, and perhaps especially hard, we might
think, for Shakespeare. He was writing for a generation which loved
poetry, eloquence, and sententiousness — loved even conceits, florid
metaphors, and bombast. We cannot for a moment imagine that a
great artist could have been tempted to use these as aids external to his
own intuition, mechanical tricks to heighten an effect. But to a certain
extent he shared the tastes of his generation, and the question for us is
this : how far, in a play where greatness of manner was demanded of
him by his subject, did he preserve a tone which was not only true to

N 2

184 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

the ear of his own age, but remains true for us too and therefore probably
for all time.

I believe that the more attentively Antony and Cleopatra is read,
the better it will be found to bring Shakespeare through this severe
test. It is a long play, but I have found not more than a dozen places
in it where a phrase disturbs the attention as irrelevant to the matter
or inconsistent with the tone given throughout to the character speaking.
Antony once mixes three metaphors :

The hearts

That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave
Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets
On blossoming Caesar; and this pine is bark'd,
That overtopp'd them all.

But in a speech which is a torrent of energy this is hardly unnatural.
Twice he is surprisingly elegant : * he wears the rose of youth upon him '
is an odd poetical phrase in a challenge, and odder still from a bluff
general to his troops is

This morning, like the spirit of a youth
That means to be of note, begins betimes.

The same inconsistency appears in the scene where Octavia weeps and
Antony remarks — to Caesar too ! — * The April 's in her eyes . . . ', ending
much more characteristically with an abrupt * Be cheerful '. Compared
with the perfectly apt image of the * swan's down-feather ' which follows
it, this * April ' shows as a mere conceit. But these are small cavils : if
a serious charge were brought against the play it would be upon the use
of magniloquence or bombast. It is undeniable that Antony, with all his
splendid vitality and directness, is in several places irrelevantly given to
words. When he exclaims in the supreme height of his impatience,

Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch
Of the rang'd empire fall ! Here is my space.

he clogs the first phrase with the second and delays the flood of his
anger. When he bids Eros unarm him, it is right enough that he should
speak of the sevenfold shield of Ajax, and cry, * Bruised pieces, go ! ',
but * O ! cleave, my sides ; Heart, once be stronger than thy continent,
Crack thy frail case ! ' is unhappily thrust between. In each of these
instances, as in others, an easy proof of the irrelevancy of the phrases
complained of, is to read the passage as it would stand without them. It
will, I think, be found to gain much by the omission.

Four cases would, if I am right, be proved against Cleopatra : at
the end of Act III it is difficult not to be thrown off by the forced image

HENRY NEWBOLT 185

of the poison 'd hail to be engendered in her heart and thence dropped
in her neck. The other three flaws all occur in the magnificent Scene xiii
of Act IV. When her dying lord is carried in, Cleopatra's natural cry :

O Antony,
Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian!

is unfortunately preceded by two lines of gigantesque apostrophe to
the sun. Twenty lines later her very telling cry of distress at being too
weak to lift the dying man is interrupted by the sonorous bit of learning
about Juno, Mercury, and Jove : and in the next speech * the false
housewife Fortune ' is still more false and unfortunate. To say this
is to judge very strictly : but how can any standard be too high for
a scene of such supreme word-magic — a scene which contains Antony's
speeches * I am dying, Egypt, dying . . . ', and * The miserable change
now at my end . . . ', and Cleopatra's

Well bury him ; and then what 's brave, what 's noble,
Let's do it after the high Roman fashion,
And make death proud to take us.

It is very noteworthy that from this point to the end the play is by
any standard faultless. In Act V there is one rhetorical passage, but it
is a description of Antony, elaborated by the indignant queen to con
found Dolabella, and it is entirely successful. In all the rest the vital
energy of Cleopatra which has burned so irresistibly through the whole
play, blazes out until it reaches the last splendour of her * immortal
longings ', and her final * Peace, peace ! ' with the baby at her breast,
* That sucks the nurse asleep '.

The almost flawless truth of this play is then the measure of Shake
speare's power. The story is not in itself beautiful : the characters
are not beautiful nor even pitiful. Antony and Cleopatra are not young
lovers : they have both been faithless in their time, they are each in
sudden moments faithless to the other, and worse still, they wrongly
judge each other by themselves. He is profligate and weak : she is
cruel, vain, and full of guile. But they both have the quality which,
for want of leisure to define it, I have called greatness : an elevation,
an energy of the soul very rare among men, and to us very uplifting to
contemplate. This greatness of theirs Shakespeare has been able to
express for us, because he himself possessed it : by the mere outbreathing
of it he created them.

HENRY NEWBOLT.

186 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

THE GAWD OR PT^OBLEM

THE notices of Cawdor 's treason and punishment in Macbeth
present some well-known difficulties.

The first reference to him occurs when Ross, who has just arrived
in hot haste from Fife, where the battle took place, announces (i. ii. 50) :

Norway himself,
With terrible numbers,
Assisted by that most disloyal traitor,
The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict.

Duncan presently proceeds (i. ii. 63) :

No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceive

Our bosom interest: go pronounce his present death,

And with his former title greet Macbeth.

Accordingly, in the next scene (i. iii. 105) Ross and Angus meet Banquo
and Macbeth on the heath, and tell the latter of his new dignity. He has
already been perplexed at the witches' salutation (i. iii. 72) :

How of Cawdor ? the Thane of Cawdor lives,
A prosperous gentleman.

And now he bursts out with the same incredulity (i. iii. 108) :

The Thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me
In borrow'd robes?

Angus answers (i. iii. 109) :

Who was the thane lives yet;
But under heavy judgement bears that life
Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combined
With those of Norway, or did line the rebel
With hidden help and vantage, or that with both
He laboured in his country's wreck, I know not:
But treasons capital, confess'd and proved,
Have overthrown him.

Finally we hear of the culprit's death. Duncan asks (i. iv. i) :

Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not
Those in commission yet return'd?

M. W. MAcCALLUM 187

Malcolm replies (i. iv. 2) :

My liege,

They are not yet come back. But I have spoke
With one that saw him die; who did report
That very frankly he confess'd his treasons,
Implored your highness' pardon, and set forth
A deep repentance.

Now it is undoubtedly odd that if Cawdor helped Norway, Ross
should know of it while Macbeth did not : it is also odd that after
Ross's definite statement, Angus should be doubtful whether Cawdor
had helped Macdonwald, Norway, or both ; and finally it is odd that
Angus, who has accompanied Ross on his mission, should be able to
speak of Cawdor's treasons as * confess'd and proved ', when we are
afterwards told that the traitor made his penitential confession imme
diately before his execution.

The different statements certainly do not at the first glance fit into
each other ; still, a little consideration will show that they involve no
radical contradiction, but only need to be expanded, and perhaps
supplemented.

So much is evident, that Cawdor had kept his disloyalty secret.
Even Angus speaks of the * hidden help and vantage ' he afforded, and
at the very moment when Ross, with haste looking through his eyes,
tells of Cawdor 's supporting Norway he is in close proximity to the
king, who can order his immediate execution. He may have remained
at court all the time, keeping up appearances as long as he could and
conducting his plots through agents. At any rate, since he did not
appear openly in the matter, it is not wonderful that Macbeth should
be ignorant of his treachery ; it is only strange that Ross should know
of it. But after all he might hear rumours during his ride from Fife to
Forres. Whence could these rumours come ? Possibly from informa
tion leaking out about the proceedings taken against Cawdor at court,
the admissions of the accused, and the incriminating evidence. For
surely it is implied that he has been on trial before Duncan commands
or sanctions his execution. The king's words seem to confirm a sen
tence that has come as the conclusion of a legal examination : ' Go
pronounce his present death.' That would be gross tyranny if its
sole ground were the unsupported statement of Ross, and if Cawdor 's
guilt had not previously been investigated : and such tyranny would
be peculiarly incongruous with the character of the king, who

i88 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

afterwards receives Macbeth 's testimony to his gentleness and justice
(l. vii. 16),

This Duncan

Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been
So clear in his great office.

It is far more probable that the king at last resolves to act on the finding
of the commission, that is presently referred to in connexion with the
execution and that, we may suppose, has been inquiring into the case.
That * very frankly he confessed his treasons * on the eve of death when
solemnly setting forth his final penitence and regrets, need not mean
that Cawdor had made no admissions before, when his offences were
brought home to him at the trial, and that therefore Angus could not
speak of his * treasons capital, confessed and proved '.

There remains only the difficulty that Ross definitely mentions
Cawdor 's help of Norway, while Angus is afterwards doubtful whether
he was helping Norway, Macdonwald, or both ; but that may be due
to a difference in the reports they have heard, or to a greater or less
hastiness of belief in themselves. Certainly at a later date Ross shows
himself rather credulous in regard to chance hearsay ; for after Duncan's
murder, when Macduff tells him that the flight of Malcolm and Donal-
bain (n. iv. 26) :

puts upon them
Suspicion of the deed.

he accepts the suspicion as proven fact without a moment's hesitation
(ii. iv. 27) :

'Gainst nature still!
Thriftless ambition, that will ravin up
Thine own life's means!

It is therefore not out of character at least that he should adopt without
criticism the first version of Cawdor 's practices that strikes him or comes
to his ears, while Angus takes into account various possible alternatives.
If, then, we piece out the fragmentary story in the above or some
such way, we find no absolute discrepancies in it, though a good deal
that wants explanation. That being so, two of the hypotheses to
account for the apparent difficulties lose their force. It is unnecessary
to suppose with some that Shakespeare, having antedated the Cawdor
episode, which in Holinshed follows considerably later, forgot the
bearings of his own alteration. It is also unnecessary to assume with
others the intervention of an editor who distorted the original plan of

M. W. MAcCALLUM 189

the play. The third hypothesis, that the existing version is an abridge
ment for stage purposes, and that the obscurity arises from the omission
of explanatory passages or scenes, is to a certain extent confirmed. Even
in regard to it, however, it should be remembered that the incident is
a very subordinate one, and that Shakespeare, while having a complete
and consistent picture of it in his own mind, may well have considered
it sufficient to convey it only in isolated jottings.

M. W. MACCALLUM.

THE UNIVERSITY OF SYDNEY.

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

THE KNOCKING <AT THE GATE ONCE

IN that piece of subtle psychology and eloquent English, On the
Knocking at the Gate in Macbeth, De Quincey tells us that from his
boyish days he had been puzzled to account for the fact that the knocking
at the gates * reflected back upon the murderer a peculiar awfulness and
a depth of solemnity '. His understanding said positively that it could
not produce any effect ; but in spite of his understanding he felt that it
did. The Williams murders in 1812 gave him the key to the explana
tion ; for then the very same incident of a knocking occurred after the
murder of the Marrs. De Quincey 's explanation is that the marvellous
effect of the terrific murder scene depends upon a contrast between the
normal human nature, * the divine nature of love and mercy ', and the
fiendish nature of the two murderers. The dialogues and soliloquies
convey the sense that the human nature has vanished and the fiendish
nature has taken its place ; and the effect is finally consummated by
the knocking at the gate ; for then * the world of darkness passes away
like a pageantry in the clouds ', and the human makes its reflux upon the
fiendish. It is at the meeting-point of the two worlds that the contrast
between them is sharpest.

The question whether Shakespeare took the hint of his great scene
from some real incident such as that which occurred in the murder of
the Marrs, or invented it himself, is unimportant as well as insoluble.
He has made the incident and the principle upon which it rests for ever
his own ; for if De Quincey afterwards found the explanation he was
led to it by the light which Shakespeare supplied. My purpose is not
to discuss whether Shakespeare was guided to his principle by some
specific experience, or reached it through the exercise of his own facul
ties, but simply to illustrate by further examples the truth which was
revealed to De Quincey by the crimes of Williams.

Since these illuminating crimes at least two very striking incidents
have occurred to attest the keenness of Shakespeare's insight and the
soundness of De Quincey's interpretation. In one case it fortunately

HUGH WALKER i9I

happened that a poet, though a poet who was still only a small schoolboy,
was present. In A Lark's Flight, perhaps the finest essay in that fine
volume Dreamthorp, Alexander Smith relates the story of an execution
at Glasgow for a murder which was committed about thirty years after
the Williams murders. The essayist skilfully groups the incidents of
his story — the heedless play of the happy little boys and girls on the
evening preceding the execution, its sudden interruption by the arrival
of the materials for the scaffold (it was, of course, the day of public
executions), the marshalling of the little army of horse, foot, and artillery
to overawe the disorderly, and the procession of the two doomed Irish
navvies through the sunshine of a May morning. Around the scaffold
the soldiers had kept clear a wide space on which the young wheat was
springing, and just when the men appeared beneath the beam * the
incident, so simple, so natural, so much in the ordinary course of things,
and yet so frightful in its tragic suggestions, took place '. The hush of
awe had fallen upon the crowd. * Just then, out of the grassy space
at the foot of the scaffold, in the dead silence audible to all, a lark rose
from the side of its nest, and went singing upward in its happy flight.
O heaven ! how did that song translate itself into dying ears ? Did it bring
in one wild burning moment father, and mother, and poor Irish cabin,
and prayers said at bed-time, and the smell of turf fires, and innocent
sweet-hearting, and rising and setting suns ? Did it — but the dragoon's
horse has become restive, and his brass helmet bobs up and down and
blots everything, and there is a sharp sound ; and I feel the great crowd
heave and swing, and hear it torn by a sharp shiver of pity, and the men
whom I saw so near but a moment ago are at immeasurable distance,
and have solved the great enigma, — and the lark has not yet finished
his flight ; you can see and hear him yonder in the fringe of a white
May cloud/

Simple, natural, in the ordinary course of things, yet frightful
indeed in its tragic suggestions ! As simple as the knocking at the gate,
and not so much inferior in its tragic suggestions ; for, in face of * the
great enigma ', what is the difference between the blood-stained King of
Scotland and the blood-stained Irish navvy ? Here surely is independent
evidence to the keenness of Shakespeare's insight and the soundness
of De Quincey's interpretation. Yet the knocking at the gate never
occurred to Smith. He goes on to give illustrations of the principle
of contrast ; illustrations from history and from literature ; but not
that which is the most remarkable of all.

A century has passed since the murders which so profoundly

192 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

impressed De Quincey ; a crime is being enacted whose crimson horror
makes the Williams murders pale ; and once more we find that the
simplest incident in nature suffices to throw into startling relief its
horror and its guilt. In letters from the trenches men betray their sense
of it, never suspecting that they are under the sway of a principle which
it took the greatest of poets to discover, and one of the greatest of critics
to interpret.

* The weather for the last week has been gorgeous. It seems such
a waste of time trying to kill other people when the sun is so nice and
friendly/ wrote one man last September. He was making no effort to
be literary, and the simplicity of his language makes him all the more
impressive. The sun is * so nice and friendly ' — and man, when the
human nature is utterly withdrawn, is so devilish. Last spring a group
of men were found in a trench with tears running down their cheeks.
There was no apparent cause, and when the discoverer asked an explana
tion he was told that it was because, in the intervals of the crash of
artillery, the men could hear the birds singing in the bushes. The
note of spring joy, in contrast with the awful tragedy around, overcame
them. These men were not poets, like Alexander Smith, but they
needed only to be human in order to feel, like him, the frightful tragic
suggestions of the contrast between the sun * so nice and friendly ' and
the song-bird on the one hand, and, on the other, the reign of murder
and sudden death around them. They were not, like Shakespeare,
profound psychologists, but for that very reason their instinctive
response to the stimulus which he knew would best bring home to the
onlooker the nature of the deed is all the more instructive. And there
may be other criminals besides Macbeth sighing out from the sorely
charged heart, in response to something just as simple, their

Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst!

HUGH WALKER.
ST. DAVID'S COLLEGE,
LAMPETER.

J. W. MACKAIL 193

MOTHER <AND SON IN < CTMBELINE '

IN the portraiture of Cloten in this play has been noted, at least as
far back as Johnson, what seems a perplexing inconsistency. Repre
sented as ' an arrogant piece of flesh ', * a brutal and brainless fool ', he
is yet spoken of by his step-father in terms of warm regard, and at the
beginning of the scene with the Roman ambassador he appears to acquit
himself not only with credit, but with ability. The high eloquence of

There be many Caesars
Ere such another Julius. Britain is
A world by itself —

is not the language of * an ass ',' a thing too bad for bad report ', one
who * cannot take two from twenty, for his heart, and leave eighteen '.

It would be going too far to say of Shakespeare, as Shakespeare
once incautiously said of Julius Caesar himself, that he * did never
wrong but with just cause '. But very often things in Shakespeare that
we stumble at would be quite clear if we took more pains to realize
them in their setting and context. We are too apt to read detachedly,
and thus to miss the dramatic value of speeches, their relevance to the
dramatic interplay of will and character. It is essential not to treat any
single figure in the plays, or any single thing said, as isolated.

The queen, Cloten 's mother, is * a woman that bears all down
with her brain '. She has won her position by no sensuous arts of
allurement, but by sheer capacity and adroitness. Cymbeline has grown
to lean on her. He turns habitually to her for good advice ; and he
gets it from her, in no less measure than he gets from her attention,
deference, and all the outward show of affection. She, on her side,
does not care for him at all ; her mind is wholly fixed, not on personal
ambition, but on the advancement of her son. Far too clever herself not
to realize how coarse-fibred and stupid Cloten is, she sets herself with
infinite skill and patience to cover his deficiencies and gloss over his want
of manners as well as of sense and decency. She succeeds in imposing
him on her husband, though not on the court generally : * the sole son

194 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

of my queen ', ' our dear son ', is honestly thought by Cymbeline, under
her influence, to be a useful and even necessary adviser in matters of
state. She is always close at hand to coach and prompt Cloten, to
excuse or explain away his blunders and vicious habits, to represent
her own ability and foresight as his. She is a perfect mother, much as
Lady Macbeth is a perfect wife. To her, Cloten is not wholly un
amenable, and he has a sort of animal affection for her apart from the
dominance of a strong and subtle over a weak and coarse mind. So long
as she can keep beside or close behind him she can guide him fairly
straight, though this requires perpetual and unrelaxing vigilance ; but
the moment her hand is withdrawn, he shows himself the fool and
brute that he is.

If we look at the scene with the Roman ambassador in this light,
it ceases to be a perplexity. The queen has prepared a speech for her
son with elaborate care, such as, though wholly beyond his capacity,
is not too obviously out of keeping with his temperament. She has
made him learn it by heart, and is ready to give him his cue. When
the time comes, she gives it, in the words

And, to kill the marvel,
Shall be so ever.

Cloten takes it up :

There be many Caesars
Ere such another Julius. Britain is
A world by itself.

But then, in his self-complacent folly, he strikes off into language of
his own, such as we have already heard him use with the two lords :

And we will nothing pay
For wearing our own noses.

His mother, prepared for something of the kind, swiftly and adroitly
breaks in before he has made a complete fool of himself in public. His
own way (we see it throughout the scenes in which he appears) is to get
some senseless phrase or childish misconception (like * his meanest
garment ' in the scene with Imogen) into his head, and go on fatuously
repeating it. She picks up what she had told him to say, and goes on
with it herself :

That opportunity,

Which then they had to take from 's, to resume
We have again:

continuing with some twenty lines of real if slightly turgid eloquence.
But Cloten is intoxicated with his own importance on so great an occa-

J. W. MACKAIL 195

sion, and will not be lightly silenced, especially as he has not yet made
the most of Caesar's nose. At her first pause, he breaks in :

Come, there 's no more tribute to be paid. Our kingdom is stronger than it was at
that time ; and, as I said, there is no more such Caesars ; other of them may have
crooked noses, but to owe such straight arms, none.

This is all his own, and he is delighted with it. Cymbeline is affronted
and shocked. * Son, let your mother end,' he says sharply. But Cloten
is in full cry, and plunges on :

We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as Cassibelan ; I do not say I am
one, but I have a hand. Why tribute ? why should we pay tribute ? If Caesar can
hide the sun from us with a blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him
tribute for light ; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now.

The queen is too much upset and mortified to intervene again ; but
Cymbeline now takes matters into his own hands. In the subsequent
parting scene with the ambassador, Cloten has clearly had instruc
tions to hold his tongue. His share in the conversation is confined
to one short sentence, in which he does not discredit himself. With
all his arrogance and folly, he is not without a certain rough good
humour when things are going to his mind and he is not crossed. Not
until, after Lucius has left, the news of Imogen's flight is brought, does
he relapse into his customary brutality.

After this scene the queen does not appear again. In his supreme
act of self-originated blundering, Cloten goes off on his fool's errand
to Milford alone, without telling his mother, and there comes by his
death. The next we hear of her is that she is dangerously ill ;

A fever with the absence of her son,

A madness, of which her life 's in danger.

Cloten 's disappearance has shattered her spider's web of crime and
cunning. For his sake she had staked everything. She had, as she
thought, disposed of Pisanio by poison. She had made up her mind
that Imogen, * except she bend her humour ', shall taste of the drug too.
According to her own hysterical death-bed confession — if it is to be
believed — she was preparing a * mortal mineral ' to make away with
Cymbeline himself when once she had * worked her son into the adoption
of the crown '. Her son vanished ; all this fabric of ingenious patient
crime went to wreckage : and the tigress-mother

Failing of her end by his strange absence,
Grew shameless-desperate ; open'd, in despite
Of heaven and men, her purposes ; repented
The evils she hatch'd were not effected: so,
Despairing, died.

196 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

* That irregulous devil ', Imogen calls Cloten in her agony. ' O delicate
fiend ! ' Cymbeline exclaims of the queen when the truth comes out.
For Cloten 's brainless devilry the end was certain ; for * it is the fools
who are paid first '. It is poetical justice, but it is also true to life.
But still more deeply true to life is the tragic irony of his mother's
more miserable end. She perishes, not because of her many crimes,
but because of her one virtue ; not because her own craft and adroitness
failed, but because the only creature whom she loved failed her. One
can fancy, if they rejoined in the underworld, that her thoughts and
plans would still be for him, and that they would still come to the same
shipwreck. Her punishment for being a fiend was to have borne
a fool.

J. W. MACKAIL.

A. C. BENSON 197

THE character and figure of Ariel has always appeared to me one of
the most strangely typical of Shakespeare's inventions, a creature at
first carelessly and lightly conceived, a useful fairy, with all the virtues of
an Orderly ! But Ariel takes shape and grows under the writer's hand,
becoming more and more distinct, a separate problem, a perfect creation,
gradually embodied and realized in the few score of lines devoted to the
fantastic and sexless little being.

At first sight Ariel is a mere reflection of his master, with a taste
for high-piled phrases, such as on Prospero's lips sound loftily enough ;
but when Ariel indulges in them are like the bombastic parody of a child
mimicking its elders.

Jove's lightnings, the precursors
O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary
And sight-outrunning were not; the fire, and cracks
Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune
Seem'd to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble,
Yea, his dread trident shake.

This is dull rhetoric at best !

But then it seems that Ariel emerges more clearly from the haze
of the mind ; and is it not characteristic of Shakespeare that he does not
return and revise, but lets the whole conception stand on the page, just
as it was set down ? That is not unlike Shakespeare, to say a thing, to
remould it better, and yet again better, and to leave it all written, exactly
as it grew up.

There comes the scene when Ariel shows a childlike petulance,
followed by a childlike repentance ; and at that point, I believe, the
delicate-limbed beautiful creature sprang out in Shakespeare's mind. It
is difficult to resist a movement of indignation when Prospero, like
a cross-grained old schoolmaster, browbeats the pretty creature, who
stands before him pouting, methinks, nibbling a rosy thumb, answering
in monosyllables, and glad like a pet dog when the scolding is over.

How now ? moody ?
What is't thou canst demand?

198 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

To which menace says Ariel, looking up blue-eyed, with palms pressed
together,

My liberty!

And what could be more childlike, when he has promised to be good,
than the pretty touch of eagerness ?

What shall I do? Say what. What shall I do?

When the scolding begins he is * malignant thing ', * dull thing '. As
Prospero 's mood changes, he becomes * quaint ', and then, as the play
goes on, he becomes * my bird ', * my chick ' ; and even the little caged
much-labouring, much-enduring spirit wants a tender word :

Do you love me master? No?

Three of Shakespeare's loveliest lyrics, * Come unto these yellow sands/
* Full fathom five,' ' Where the bee sucks ' (it is refreshing even to
set down their titles !), are put into Ariel's mouth, to show how his
maker loves the delicate spirit — three lyrics, of which I can only say
that the more poetry I have read, and even written, the more wholly
inconceivable to me is the process by which such strange and beautiful
imagery is built up. Yet even so there is a touch of weakness in the
sequel of the first :

The strains of strutting chanticleer
Cry Cock-a-diddle-dow.

But * Full fathom five ' is indeed no mortal business ! Could an ugly
thing be so transfigured into a beautiful mystery more speedily ? While
in * Where the bee sucks ', the whole heart of Ariel, the passionless joy
of nature, asking nothing but a sweet continuance, is presented free of
all stain of human emotion or regret !

Three other touches in the Ariel episode have a special interest.
The curious touch of coarseness — which I confess seems to me a real
blunder, if it were not Shakespeare's blunder, about the stench of the
foul pool into which the roysterers had been led ; then again the passage
in which Ariel pleads for pity on the courtiers in their sorrow,

That if you now beheld them, your affections
Would become tender.

4 Dost thou think so, spirit ? ' says Prospero, surprised.
1 Mine would, sir, were I human,' says Ariel, and Prospero replies,
4 And mine shall.'

I suppose the incident is devised to shame the Sage out of his

A. C. BENSON 199

extreme severity, and it leads to a fine speech from Prospero, of which
the drift is * the rarer action is in virtue than in vengeance '. A moral
device, I am not sure whether justified !

And, lastly, there is the scene where Ariel again takes on the manner
of his master, and tells the conspirators, in an imposing strain, that
nothing can save them from their sin, * nothing but heart-sorrow, and
a clear life ensuing '. That we may be sure is no idea of Ariers own,
but just a punctual and sympathetic imagination of the dignified sort
in which his master would have lectured them.

But now Ariel is free at last. He has but to speed the homeward
sails ;

Then to the elements !
Be free, and fare thou well.

He is to be free * as mountain winds ' ; and by that single touch Shake
speare brings to mind a wide vision of breezes wandering in sun-warmed
silent hill-spaces, where the sheep crop the grass, and the bee hums
among the heather. That is Ariers reward. And in this the art of the
whole conception rises into a mood that few can attain, by presenting
the wild impulse of the human heart, in a moment of anguish, to be free
from, everything alike, not only from suffering and sorrow, but from
passion and emotion, enrapturing as they may seem, as well as even from
righteousness and judgement. To be sinless, not by victory and hard-
won triumph, but by soaring away from the whole stern and fiery strife
of motive and desire, and forgetting that such things have ever been.

A. C. BENSON.

MAGDALENE COLLEGE,
CAMBRIDGE.

O 2

200 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

THE VISION OF THE ENCHANTED ISLAND

'But whence came the vision of the enchanted island in The Tempest} It had no
existence in Shakespeare's world, but was woven out of such stuff as dreams are made of.'

From ' Landscape and Literature ', Spectator, June 18, I898.1

MAY I cite Malone's suggestion connecting the play with the casting
away of Sir George Somers on the island of Bermuda in 1609 ; and,
further, may I be allowed to say how it seems to me possible that the
vision was woven from the most prosaic material — from nothing more
promising, in fact, than the chatter of a half -tipsy sailor at a theatre ?
Thus:

A stage-manager, who writes and vamps plays, moving among his
audience, overhears a mariner discoursing to his neighbour of a grievous
wreck, and of the behaviour of the passengers, for whom all sailors have
ever entertained a natural contempt. He describes, with the wealth of
detail peculiar to sailors, measures taken to claw the ship off a lee-shore,
how helm and sails were worked, what the passengers did, and what he
said. One pungent phrase — to be rendered later into : * What care
these brawlers for the name of King ? ' — strikes the manager's ear, and
he stands behind the talkers. Perhaps only one-tenth of the earnestly
delivered, hand-on-shoulder sea- talk was actually used of all that was
automatically and unconsciously stored by the inland man who knew
all inland arts and crafts. Nor is it too fanciful to imagine a half- turn
to the second listener, as the mariner, banning his luck as mariners will,
says there are those who would not give a doit to a poor man while they
will lay out ten to see a raree-show — a dead Indian. Were he in
foreign parts, as now he is in England, he could show people something
in the way of strange fish. Is it to consider too curiously to see a drink
ensue on this hint (the manager dealt but little in his plays with the sea
at first-hand, and his instinct for new words would have been waked
by what he had already caught), and with the drink a sailor's minute
description of how he went across through the reefs to the island of his

1 The reply to this statement, here reprinted, appeared in The Spectator •, in the form
of a letter, on July 2, i«r

RUDYARD KIPLING 201

calamity — or islands rather, for there were many? Some you could
almost carry away in your pocket. They were sown broadcast like —
like the nutshells on the stage there. * Many islands, in truth/ says
the manager patiently, and afterwards his Sebastian says to Antonio :
' I think he will carry the island home in his pocket and give it to his son
for an apple.' To which Antonio answers : * And sowing the kernels
of it in the sea, bring forth more islands.'

' But what was the land like ? ' says the manager. The sailor tries
to explain. * It was green, with yellow in it ; a tawny-coloured coun
try ' — the colour, that is to say, of the coral-beached, cedar-covered
Bermuda of to-day — * and the air made one sleepy, and the place was
full of noises ' — the muttering and roaring of the sea among the islands
and between the reefs — ' and there was a sou '-west wind that blistered
one all over '. The Elizabethan mariner would not distinguish finely
between blisters and prickly heat ; but the Bermudian of to-day will
tell you that the sou '-west, or lighthouse, wind in summer brings that
plague and general discomfort. That the coral rock, battered by the
sea, rings hollow with strange sounds, answered by the winds in the
little cramped valleys, is a matter of common knowledge.

The man, refreshed with more drink, then describes the geography
of his landing-place — the spot where Trinculo makes his first appear
ance. He insists and reinsists on details which to him at one time
meant life or death, and the manager follows attentively. He can give
his audience no more than a few hangings and a placard for scenery,
but that his lines shall lift them beyond that bare show to the place he
would have them, the manager needs for himself the clearest possible
understanding — the most ample detail. He must see the scene in the
round — solid — ere he peoples it. Much, doubtless, he discarded, but
so closely did he keep to his original informations that those who go
to-day to a certain beach some two miles from Hamilton will find the
stage set for Act II, Sc. ii, of The Tempest — a bare beach, with the wind
singing through the scrub at the land's edge, a gap in the reefs wide
enough for the passage of Stephano's butt of sack, and (these eyes have
seen it) a cave in the coral within easy reach of the tide, whereto such
a butt might be conveniently rolled (' My cellar is in a rock by the sea
side, where my wine is hid '). There is no other cave for some two miles.
* Here's neither bush nor shrub ; ' one is exposed to the wrath of * yond'
same black cloud ', and here the currents strand wreckage. It was so
well done that, after three hundred years, a stray tripper, and no Shake
speare scholar, recognized in a flash that old first set of all.

202 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

So far good. Up to this point the manager has gained little except
some suggestions for an opening scene, and some notion of an uncanny
island. The mariner (one cannot believe that Shakespeare was mean
in these little things) is dipping to a deeper drunkenness. Suddenly
he launches into a preposterous tale of himself and his fellows, flung
ashore, separated from their officers, horribly afraid of the devil-haunted
beach of noises, with their heads full of the fumes of broached liquor.
One castaway was found hiding under the ribs of a dead whale which
smelt abominably. They hauled him out by the legs — he mistook them
for imps — and gave him drink. And now, discipline being melted, they
would strike out for themselves, defy their officers, and take possession
of the island. The narrator's mates in this enterprise were probably
described as fools. He was the only sober man in the company.

So they went inland, faring badly as they staggered up and down
this pestilent country. They were pricked with palmettoes, and the
cedar branches rasped their faces. Then they found and stole some of
their officers' clothes which were hanging up to dry. But presently
they fell into a swamp, and, what was worse, into the hands of their
officers ; and the great expedition ended in muck and mire. Truly an
island bewitched. Else why their cramps and sickness ? Sack never
made a man more than reasonably drunk. He was prepared to answer
for unlimited sack ; but what befell his stomach and head was the purest
magic that honest man ever met.

A drunken sailor of to-day wandering about Bermuda would prob
ably sympathize with him ; and to-day, as then, if one takes the easiest
inland road from Trinculo's beach, near Hamilton, the path that a
drunken man would infallibly follow, it ends abruptly in swamp. The
one point that our mariner did not dwell upon was that he and the
others were suffering from acute alcoholism combined with the effects
of nerve-shattering peril and exposure. Hence the magic. That
a wizard should control such an island was demanded by the beliefs of
all seafarers of that date.

Accept this theory, and you will concede that The Tempest came to
the manager sanely and normally in the course of his daily life. He
may have been casting about for a new play ; he may have purposed to
vamp an old one — say, Aurelio and Isabella ; or he may have been merely
waiting on his demon. But it is all Prosperous wealth against Caliban's
pignuts that to him in a receptive hour, sent by heaven, entered the
original Stephano fresh from the seas and half-seas over. To him
Stephano told his tale all in one piece, a two hours' discourse of most

RUDYARD KIPLING 203

glorious absurdities. His profligate abundance of detail at the begin
ning, when he was more or less sober, supplied and surely established
the earth-basis of the play in accordance with the great law that a story
to be truly miraculous must be ballasted with facts. His maunderings
of magic and incomprehensible ambushes, when he was without
reservation drunk (and this is just the time when a lesser-minded man
than Shakespeare would have paid the reckoning and turned him
out), suggested to the manager the peculiar note of its supernatural
mechanism.

Truly it was a dream, but that there may be no doubt of its source
or of his obligation, Shakespeare has also made the dreamer immortal.

RUDYARD KIPLING.

204 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

DE WITT .AT THE SWAN

ASSUMING that Van Buchell's drawing of the Swan playhouse was
copied, by one who had never seen such a building, from a sketch made
on the spot by a curious foreigner, who was not a skilled draughtsman,
let us try to reconstruct the scene which presented itself to the eyes of
De Witt. He sat in the second gallery, somewhat to the right of the
centre,1 for, though he drew the platform as though he were occupying
a seat exactly midway, he drew the tiring-house as he saw it, and showed
plainly the right wall of the topmost story. In the face of the tiring-
house two doors open upon the stage. That on the right is the larger
and is given greater detail than its fellow, perhaps as the result of an
attempt to show in perspective two doors of equal size. Similarly, in
the top story the nearer window appears the wider. The stage extends
to the middle of the yard. The artist drew his circular yard as an oval,
much as he saw it, and then drew through its centre the horizontal
straight line which represents the front edge of the stage. The blocks
or piles visible below the stage may be the supports of a movable plat
form, but, if so, they appear too large and clumsy and yet numerically
insufficient for support of so broad a floor. Possibly De Witt meant
to indicate from hearsay the bases of the pillars. These pillars are placed
to conform with the imaginary direct view of the platform, but the
shadow (or heavens) is necessarily drawn in part to match the actual
oblique view of the top story. One supposes that Van Buchell, puzzled
by inconsistency in the original rough sketch, and trying to give definite-
ness to the lines and to make them fit his ideas of propriety, introduced
further confusion. At the top the shadow turns the corner and runs
back to the galleries ; yet at the bottom a straight horizontal line runs
the width of the stage, and beneath this line are the pillars symmetrically
placed. Result — the right pillar is under the side plane of the roof, and
the left under the front plane. In De Witt's sketch the right pillar must

1 Wegener, ii.

J. LE GAY BRERETON 205

have stood apparently, through effect of perspective, nearer the centre,
obscuring a good deal of that end of the tiring-house wall, while to the
right of the pillar the roof receded to the galleries. The angle formed
by the two lower roof-edges was on a level with our spectator's eye, and
his line of the eaves was so nearly straight that it deceived Van Buchell.
A line, heavier and straight er than its fellows, runs slantwise down the
roof, a little to the left of the corner. Though not quite rightly placed,
it represents the division between the two planes, and accordingly the
portion to the right of it is shaded — carelessly and without decision,
because Van Buchell did not realize why any shade should be there.
It is likely that the upper stories of the tiring-house projected, so that
aerial descents could be made directly from the overhanging floor of the
room above which the trumpeter stands, or even from the topmost
chamber ; it is significant, in this connexion, that the front roof is not
so extensive as the position of the pillars would lead us to expect. That
the lines marking the bases of the pillars upon the platform are half-way
between the stage-front edge and the upper part of the pit circumference
may indicate that rather more than half the stage-depth was covered by
the heavens and the tiring-house.

Along the front of the balcony runs a projecting ledge, with a row
of small pillars at its inner brink, and beneath it is a horizontal line
sufficiently thick to indicate the shadow. The projection may have been
two or three feet in depth, and the ledge has probably a forward slope,
for no stays are visible beneath it. It is similar to the ledge beneath the
balcony of the Messalina stage, though it is not quite in the same position,
and most likely curtains were sometimes suspended from its outer edge
so as to form a recess or cloister for concealments and ' inner scenes', or
to provide additional entrances.

With pillars and stage placed as they are, any representation of
a lateral wall to the lower stories of the tiring-house must have appeared
to Van Buchell a result of bad drawing. He believed that the three
lower stories ran straight across the full width of the stage ; but, if he
was right, the lower stories were broader than the topmost story, which
rose as a turret from one side of the structure. Really, the breadth of the
tiring-house was the same from stage to roof, and there was an equal
space, on either side, between the lateral wall and the edge of the plat
form. A downward extension of the vertical bounding lines of the front
wall in the top story shows approximately where the angles of the lower
part of the wall should be. The line on the left falls behind the pillar ;
the corner is not visible. On the other side the effect has been vitiated

206 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

by Van Buchell's shifting of the pillar, but, even so, there is a slight
indication that De Witt may have shown the angle with some distinct
ness. Slightly to left of the pillar a vertical line is drawn almost across
the ledge, just below a heavy line which runs from top to bottom through
the shadow in the balcony, and thence to the right the upper and lower
lines of the ledge have a slight downward slope. The slope is not in
accord with laws of perspective, but it seems to betray intention to show
a turn of the ledge towards the rear of the stage, similar to that of the
Messalina print. One result of Van Buchell's error is that the balcony
window on the extreme right is wider than any of the others ; and if
this were the result of perspective, the whole row would diminish
regularly from right to left. The right-hand door appears to be farther
from the edge of the stage than that on the left, and this too may have
resulted from a misunderstanding of the shape of the tiring-house.
The position of the adjusted pillar prevents our seeing if there were any
doors in the side- walls of the tiring-house, but a study of stage-directions
convinces one that doors opened somewhere upon the lateral passages.
A comparison of Visscher's view with Van Buchell's drawing shows that
the sides of the Swan's tiring-house were at right angles to the front, and
did not slope towards the rear corners of the stage in the fashion deter
mined by space conditions in some private playhouses.

Van Buchell indicates no pit entrance, so we surmise that it was
in that portion of the building which he has not drawn. A comparison
of Visscher's drawing and the rough plan in the Manor Map of Paris
Garden shows, on the side next the street and farthest from the stage,
a rectangular structure, which must be a porch or a roofed staircase
leading to the main door. From the Hope contract we learn that there
were * two stearcasses without and adioyninge to ' the Swan. The
second of these was, I think, at the tiring-house door, but it does not
appear in the Manor Map. Perhaps it had been removed before the
survey was made.

J. LE GAY BRERETON.

SYDNEY.

W. J. LAWRENCE 207

FOl^GOTTEN TLATHOUSE CUSTOM OF

DAT

NOTHING, perhaps, is better calculated to give a distorted impres
sion of the truth than the device of our stage historians in dividing up
the story of the rise and progress of the English Theatre into water
tight compartments. Goethe's sound apophthegm that the law of life is
continuity amidst change applies with equal force to institutions as to
men, and to no institution more fittingly than to the playhouse. One
has only to look closely at the facts to find that, even in the seventeenth
century, despite the disruptive tendency of the Civil War and the
Commonwealth, there was in matters of theatrical routine very con
siderable overlapping. Perhaps the reason for this is best expressed in
the words of the old Chinese proverb, * the Useful struggles vainly with
Time, but the devourer of all things breaks his teeth upon the Agree
able '. While the Restoration playgoer, like the playgoer of every other
age and clime, was neither lacking in initiative nor idiosyncrasy, it
is certain that some of his observances were the cherished relics of
a former day.

Even if our knowledge went no further, we should be compelled to
arrive at this conclusion to account for the steady persistence of a curious
custom, evidently the source of much disorder and as such constantly
fulminated against by Charles II. This amounted to a quaint applica
tion of the old English principle of the right of way, a principle almost
part and parcel of the British constitution and still on occasion vigor
ously maintained. No fewer than five times between the years 1663
and 1674 * old Rowley ' iterated an order forbidding playgoers to
exercise * theire pretended priviledge by custom of forcing their entrance
at the fourth or fifth acts without payment '. Long existent, indeed,
must have been the privilege so stubbornly upheld in the face of the
royal displeasure. It will not be unprofitable to inquire how it originated,
and what traces remain of its usage in pre-Restoration times.

208 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

My impression is that the custom had its origin, not with any
desire of suiting the convenience of the public, but as a mere matter
of theatrical expediency. It was usual in Shakespeare's early day to
hang up in the tiring-house for the guidance of the stage-keeper an
entrance-and-music plot of the play, so that he might know when
to send on the supers or give instructions for the flourishing of trum
pets or the rattling of thunder. Seven of these plots, or platts as
they were then called, still exist, some of them preserved at Dulwich
College and some in the British Museum Manuscript Room. Owing
to a misconception on the part of the old commentators, who arrived
at the conclusion that they were scenarios for improvised plays, after
the manner of the canevas of the Italian commedia delV arte, the
reason for their provision has long been obscured. So far from their
employment being so rare, there is no room for doubting that, in Eliza
bethan days, one of these platts was made for every acted play. Without
their aid the stage-keeper would have been all at sea.

In examining the * Platt of Frederick and Basilea' (i.e. of a play
performed at the Rose Theatre on June 3, 1597) Steevens was mightily
puzzled to know who were the * gatherers ' who came on as supers at
a certain juncture of the performance. Longo intervallo, Collier threw
light on the mystery in pointing out that * the gatherers were those who
gathered or collected the money, and who, during the performance,
after all the spectators were arrived and when their services were no
longer needed at the doors were required to appear on the stage '. Excep
tion has been taken to this interpretation on the ground that the gatherers
were those who collected money from the assembled audience, not the
money-takers at the doors, but there is no reason to believe the term had
so restricted a meaning. Dekker shows otherwise when he gives the
instruction, in his chapter on * How a Gallant should behave himself
in a Playhouse ' in The Guh Horn-Booke, ' whether therefore the
gatherers of the publique or private Playhouse stand to receive the
afternoones rent, let our Gallant (having paid it) presently advance
himselfe up to the Throne of the Stage *.

Collier's explanation, however, is too sweeping, inasmuch as it is
not in reason to infer that the door-keepers would be free for stage
employment once the performance began, much as the players might be
desirous of minimizing the expense of hirelings by pressing them into
service. Late-comers there always were and always will be. It is
more rational to infer that the gatherers were only employed when all
the normal resources of the theatre were exhausted and larger crowds

rite t Lvu-ern* '/ft&Ma.fla. 'fiferrt: 'TtfYJnt.n(lv.mL:

W. J. LAWRENCE 209

than usual had to go on. Happily the necessary qualification of Collier's
statement is afforded by the * Platt of Frederick and Basilea ' itself.
Unfortunately, unlike some of the others, this platt has no indication
of act-divisions, but there are in all eighteen grouped entries of the
characters and their attendants, and the first reference to the gatherers
occurs in the ninth entry. At this juncture in the performance the play
must have been at least half over, possibly more, as the entrances never
occurred at regular intervals and often grew more frequent towards the
close. Few playgoers would desire access to the theatre after a couple
of acts had been given and, viewing the utility of the gatherers as extra
auxiliaries, there would be great temptation to leave the doors unguarded.
As a matter of fact, there is a passage in Braith waite's Whimsies (1631),
describing a rufHer, which indicates a considerable slackening of
vigilance once the play had got fairly under way :

* To a play they wil hazard to go, though with never a rag of money :
where after the second act, when the doore is weakly guarded, they will
make forcible entrie ; a knock with a cudgell as the worst ; whereat
though they grumble, they rest pacified upon their admittance. Forth
with, by violent assault and assent, they aspire to the two-pennie
roome, where being furnished with tinder, match, and a portion of
decayed Barmoodas, they smoake it most terribly, applaud a prophane
jeast, etc/

When we learn here that those who went to the play in 1631 after
the second act, without the necessary admission money but with plenty
of assurance, had little difficulty in forcing their way into the house,
it is not surprising to find that a score of years previously the doors were
left entirely unguarded after the termination of the fourth act. At that
period the privilege of free entry towards the end led to much riot and
disorder, and culminated in magisterial interference. At the General
Session of the Peace held at Westminster in October 1612, an order was
issued forbidding all * Jigges, Rymes and Daunces ' at the close of all
performances within the jurisdiction. This was justified by the finding
that * by reason of certayne lewde Jigges, songes and daunces used and
accustomed at the playhouse called the Fortune in Goulding lane divers
cutt-purse and other lewde and ill-disposed persons in great multitudes
doe resorte thither at the end of everye playe many tymes causinge
tumultes and outrages whereby His Majesties peace is often broke and
much mischiefe like to ensue thereby '.

This statement positively demands the assumption that the privilege
of free entry at the end of the fourth act was already in vogue. Why

210 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

should the crowds have flocked to the Fortune at the close of the play
if they still had to pay the ordinary price of admission ? They might as
well have gone early and got full value for their money. The truth is
that, the doors being left unguarded, some took advantage of the privi
lege to see the jig gratis and others swelled the crowd to indulge in
pocket-picking. Whether or not the order applied to the Bankside
theatres — I should say not — it by no means wrote finis to the records
of the jig. One finds traces of its existence twenty years later. As
much misconception prevails as to the nature of the Elizabethan stage
jig, it may be pointed out that it was a ballad farce of a free order in
which the rhymed dialogue was all sung to a variety of popular airs.
It comprised at most but three or four characters and seldom took more
than twenty minutes to perform. A fact known to few people is that
some of the old jigs are still extant.

One would be hardly warranted in dogmatizing over the order of the
Westminster Justices of the Peace were it not that clear evidence of the
existence of the privilege of entry after the fourth act, before the Civil
War, is ready to hand. One item occurs in a poem entitled * The Long
Vacation in London ', first published in the posthumous folio collection
of Sir William D'Avenant's works in 1673, but written many years
earlier. The minor poems in this volume, including the above, some
of them dated, are arranged chronologically ; and it is not difficult to
arrive at the conclusion that the poem referred to was written between
1632 and 1639. Even if the lines had come down to us only in manu
script, we should still be able to determine that they were written before
the closing of the theatres, for they refer to the Globe as in active service,
and the Globe disappeared for ever in 1644. Armed with the clue, there
is no mistaking the import of the following :

Then forth he steales ; to Globe doth run ;
And smiles, and vowes Four Acts are done:
Finis to bring he does protest
Tells ev'ry Play'r, his part is best.

One other allusion shows that the privilege was still being availed
of at a slightly later period. It occurs in The Guardian of Cowley,
a comedy originally performed before Prince Charles at Trinity College,
Cambridge, on March 12, 1640-1. In Act III, Sc. i, Aurelea says to
her tormentor, * Be abandoned by all men above a Tapster ; and not
dare to looke a Gentleman i' the face ; unless perhaps you sneake into
a Playhouse, at the fifth act '.

W. J. LAWRENCE 211

Habits, we know, are stubborn things, but all the same it is remark
able that a privilege arising out of special circumstances in Shakespeare's
day should have long survived the necessity which called it into being,
jumped the formidable barrier of the Commonwealth, and run a vigorous
race over stony ground until the end of the third quarter of the seven
teenth century.

W. J. LAWRENCE,

DUBLIN.

212 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

WIT <AND HUMOUR IN SHAKESPEAT(E

' WHAT is Wit ? What is Humour ? ' might say a jesting Pilate,
and would probably not stay for the usual answers, which are infinite
in number and variety. Possibly the best definitions would be those
of a recent writer, that Wit implies * cleverness, a quick and nimble
adroitness in bringing together unexpected points of resemblance
between things apparently widely separated, or suggesting some in
congruity or oddity, by a coincidence of sound or different meanings
of a word ', while Humour (to Shakespeare a temper or predominant
mood) * betokens a certain kindly, tolerant, broad-minded point of
view, keenly alive to inconsistencies and incongruities, quick to note
and to place in a view where they become patent the small failings and
absurdities, but at the same time with a sympathetic understanding
which suggests a nature large enough to see the faults and not to be
repelled by them V The sense of incongruity pervades both, but
Humour, which is the * genius of thoughtful laughter ' (Meredith),
is tinged with emotion, while Wit is entirely intellectual.

Tragedy and Comedy partake of both, but in different degrees.
Thus in Tragedy, such as Shakespeare's (though not in the more
' classical ' models), Wit and Humour play a prominent part, in in
creasing the poignancy of the emotions, and in effecting what Aristotle
calls their * purgation ', but they are the staple of Comedy, where they
are employed solely * for the sake of laughter '. Again, the origin of
* laughter ' has caused much throwing about of the brains of the ' Wise ',
from Aristotle to M. Bergson, especially among the Germans, who have
viewed it philosophically, from the point of view of disinterested spec
tators. For example, Schopenhauer taught that * laughter ' was due to
the incongruity of what is thought and what is perceived, such as the
ludicrous appearance of a tangent touching a circle. This may be held
to be scientific laughter, devoid of that saline base to which M. Bergson
attributes the sparkle of the * comic '. On the other hand, the English-

1 Edinburgh Review ^ 1912, pp. 397-9.

W. J. M. STARKIE 213

man, Hobbes, defined it as * a sudden glory arising from sudden con
ception of some eminence in ourselves by comparison with the inferiority
of others, or with our own formerly '. This being assumed, we may
agree with George Eliot that it must have been developed out of * the cruel
mockery of a savage at the writhings of a suffering enemy '. But away
with such puerilities, out of which ' Agelasts ' may weave their ropes
of sand. The theory of Evolution can transmute anything into any
thing else, as Benedick thought love might transform him into an
oyster. Better is it to say, with Barrow, that Humour is ' that which we
all see and know : and one better apprehends what it is by acquaintance
than I can inform him by description. It is indeed so versatile and
uniform, appearing in so many shapes, so many postures, so many
garbs, so variously apprehended by several eyes and judgements, that
it seemeth no less hard to settle a clear and certain notice thereof than
to make a picture of Proteus, or to define the figure of floating air/

But many have tried to shackle their Proteus, eminently Professor
Sully and M. Bergson in recent times, but, like most modern philo
sophers, they are unconsciously treading in the footsteps of Aristotle,
who, in his Poetic, seems to have discussed the origin of Comedy with
as much care as he devoted to Tragedy. These chapters do not survive,
but in the so-called Tractatus, edited by Cramer fifty years ago, an
epitomator has given the substance (so many hold) of the philosopher's
analysis of the Comic. After defining Comedy, the writer goes on to
divide * inventorially ' the sources of * laughter ', which is produced
' from diction ' or * from things '. These sources are sometimes in
distinguishable,1 but roughly it may be said that, in the case of * things '
(including thoughts on them), the matter alone is amusing, however
it may be expressed : on the other hand, the * laughter ' is in the
' diction ', if it is created, not expressed by words, and if, when the
words are changed, the humour vanishes.

A. Laughter is derived from * diction ' 2 in the following ways :

By Homonyms?

* Homonymous things ' are those which, though distinct, are
known by the same name. On account of the popularity of the study
of Rhetoric (the art of persuasion or deception) in Elizabethan times,
such ' equivoca ' fascinated the ears of the groundlings, whose lungs were

1 As Pancrace says (Mar. Forc^ Sc. iv), ' et tout ainsi que les pensees sont les portraits
des choses, de raeme nos paroles sont-elles les portraits de nos pensees.'

2 d-rrd rfjs Ae'f^wy. 3 Ka6'

P

214 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

more ' tickle o* the sere * than ours. As Hamlet said,1 ' We must speak
by the card, or equivocation will undo us/ To mistake the word ',

* to moralize two meanings ' in a phrase, was the besetting vice of all
stage-characters, tragic as well as comic. Thus, * old Gaunt indeed,
and gaunt in being old ',a ' Til gild the faces of the grooms withal ; For
it must seem their guilt '.* We cannot but agree with the commentators
that such jests enhance the horror of the scene ! To the clowns who are
always ' winding up the watches of their wits ', or seeking to escape
dullness as they say * the dogs on the Nile-banks drink at the river
running to avoid the crocodile ',4 such word-plays were their stock-in-
trade from which they extracted the treasures of their lean and wasteful
learning. These civil wars of wits, at their best, consisted in fitting an
absurd idea into a well-established phrase-form, or in taking literally
an expression which was used figuratively. Thus 'Mercutio. Ask for me
to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man ' ; 6 * Oliver. Now, sir !
what make you here ? Orlando. Nothing : I am not taught to make any
thing ' ; 6 * Sir Andrew. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand ?
Maria. Sir, I have not you by the hand ' ;7 'Sir Andrew. Faith, I can
cut a caper. Sir Toby. And I can cut the mutton to't '.8 One of the
worst is Hamlet's ; * And many such-like "As"es of great charge '.9

Bacon and Shakespeare ridiculed, and often practised, such * pecu
liar and quaint affectation of words ' ; and indeed, after a long course
of them, we feel the justice of Lorenzo's remark :

And I do know

A many fools, that stand in better place,
Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word
Defy the matter.10

* Homonymy ' is, to our conception, less * tolerable and not to be
endured ' when it consists in the transference of words or proverbs into
new surroundings, or a new key : for example, Pistol's * Why, then the
world 's my oyster, Which I with sword will open ' ; u the Bastard's apt

* Zounds ! I was never so bethump'd with words Since I first call'd
my brother's father dad ' ; " Trinculo's * Alas ! the storm is come again :
my best way is to creep under his [Caliban's] gaberdine : there is no other
shelter hereabout : misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows;'1*
or Pistol's (touching his sword) * Have we not Hiren here ? ' u

1 Haml. V. i. 147. z Rich. II, II. i. 74. 3 Macb. II. ii. 57.

4 Quoted by Meredith. 5 Rom. 6- Jul. III. i. 102. 6 A. Y. L. I. i. 31.

7 Tw. N. I. iii. 69. 8 ibid. I. iii. 129. 9 Haml. V. ii. 43.

10 Merck, of V. Hi. v. 73. n M. Wives II. ii. 2. 12 John II. 466.

13 Temp. ii. ii. 40. 14 a Hen. IV, II. iv. 173.

W. J. M. STARKIE 215

By Synonyms.1

* Synonymous things ' are those called by the same name in the
same sense. * Synonyms ' are the exchequer of poets, whether lyric,
tragic, or comic, since it is possible to adorn or degrade a subject by
applying to it opposite epithets belonging to the same genus. Thus
Simonides thought a victory with the mule-car too starved a subject
for his pen, until he was satisfied with his fee, whereupon he began an
ode, * O daughters of storm-footed studs ' ; a beggar may be called a
c solicitor ', robbery * purchase V to steal ' to convey ',3 footpads * St.
Nicholas ' clerks ', * squires of the night's body ', * Diana's foresters, gentle
men of the shade, minions of the moon '.4 Since the highest quality of
style is due proportion (lofty to lofty, low to low) it is easy to blunder,
in serious poetry, in the choice of * congruent epitheta '. Thus * the
brazen Dionysius ' made all Greece laugh by speaking of * the scream of
Calliope ' 5 : Jean Paul (after Hudibras) compared the setting sun to a
parboiled lobster. As due proportion is demanded from serious writers,
disproportion is the aim of comic poetry, and excites laughter. Thus,
Armado's speeches are * a fantastical banquet, just so many strange
dishes ' : the early clowns are said to have been * at a great feast of lan
guages and to have stolen the scraps ', as it were c from a very alms-basket
of words ', which often * led to old abusing of God's patience and the
King's English '. For example, l in the posterior of the day which the
vulgar (Oh ! base vulgar) call the afternoon '. The best commentary on
such vagaries is Hamlet's speech beginning * Sir, his definement suffers
no perdition in you ; though, I know, to divide him inventorially would
dizzy the arithmetic of memory '.6 The * wise ' say that this style is
laughable as creating a momentary tension followed by a relapse.

* Synonyms ' that degrade, being the stock-in-trade of Comedy,
require no illustration. Shakespeare often tried to increase the required
tension by giving them an enigmatic character. Thus, ' Tut ! dun's the
mouse, the constable's own word ' ( = * be still ') ; 7 * Lipsbury pinfold '
(= * the teeth ') ; 8 * They call drinking deep, dyeing scarlet ; and when
you breathe in your watering, they cry " hem ! " and bid you play it
off ' ; 9 * I'll make a sop o' the moonshine of you ' ; 10 * I am but mad
north-north-west : when the wind is southerly I know a hawk from
a handsaw '.n

1 Kara a-vv^w^Lav. * Hen. V, III. ii. 47. 3 M. Wives, I. iii. 30.

* / Hen. IV, II. i. 68 ; ibid. I. ii. 27. 5 Kpauyr) Ka\\i6-nr]s. 6 Ham/. V. ii. 118.

7 Rom. & Jul. I. iv. 40. 8 Lear II. ii. 9. 9 / Hen. IV, II. iv. 17.

10 Lear n. ii. 35. n Haml. II. ii. 405.

P 2

216 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

By Garrulity.1

Under this head come grandiloquence, travesty, in fact every kind
of speech in which the thread of the verbosity is drawn out finer than
the staple of the argument. In the grand style, the best exemplars
(as in the case of * Synonymy ') were the * fanatical phantasime '
Armado, Holofernes, and Sir Nathaniel : in the lower style, the accom
plished clowns (e. g. Touchstone), and braggadocio-militarists, such
as Pistol and that man of words, Parolles. A good instance of clownish
learning is :

Costard. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me ..... The matter is to me, sir, as
concerning Jaquenetta. The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner.

Biron. In what manner ?

Costard. In manner and form following, sir ; all those three : I was seen with her in
the manor-house, sitting with her upon the form, and taken following her into the park ;
which, put together, is, in manner and form following. Now, sir, for the manner, — it is the
manner of a man to speak to a woman, for the form, — in some form.8

A chief merit of good writing is that it should be adapted to its subject,
and laughter is caused when an aggravated style is employed in em
bellishing a mean subject, whether this is done by means of an undue
magnificence of language, or of a tragic or lyrical metre. The best
example of the latter in the ' Pyramus ' Ode : * Sweet moon, I thank
thee for thy sunny beams ', especially

A tomb
Must cover thy sweet eyes,

These lily lips,

This cherry nose,
These yellow cowslip cheeks,

Are gone, are gone.

A very Aristophanic parody.

By Paronyms?

To speak strictly, * paronymous things ' are those which are called
by two names, where one is derived from the other by varying the
termination ; thus Phoebus and Phoebe are * paronymous '. As a
source of laughter, however, * Paronymy ' should be restricted to nonce-
words, or expressions strange to literary speech. In nonce-words the
Greek and Latin comedies are extraordinarily rich, but the genius of
French and English does not readily lend itself to such formations :

1 KttT* aooAeo-xiaz-. 8 Love's L. L. I. i. 1

3 Kara •no.p(awit.iavi -napii irpdaOtviv Kal a<f)aip«riv.

W. J. M. STARKIE 217

Shakespeare, however, occasionally made experiments in them : for
example, * the most sovereign prescription in Galen is but empiricutic ' ; l

* I would not have been so fidiused * (viz. Aufidiused, cp. Moliere's

* tartuffiee ') ; 2 * your bisson conspectuities ' ; 3 ' directitude ' 4 (a ser
vant's word) ; the Gargantuan ' I am joined with no foot-landrakers,
no long-staff sixpenny strikers, none of these mad mustachio-purple-
hued malt-worms ; but with nobility and tranquillity, burgomasters
and great oneyers ', 5 which is as near as the English language can
get to the fullness of such mouth-filling compounds as o-aATnyyo-
AoyxuTTT^aSeu, o-apKao-fioTTLrvoKdfjLTTTaL. Armado had a mint of such fire-
new words in his brain, e. g. * volable J ; 6 * which to annothanize in
the vulgar ' ; 7 'Dost thou infamonize me among potentates ? ' ; 8
compare also ' Falstaff. You are grand-jurors are ye? We'll jure ye,
i' faith ' ; 9 ' Falstaff. What a plague mean ye to colt me thus ? Prince
Hal. Thou liest : thou art not colted ; thou art uncolted ' ; 10 Falstaff.
'Away, you scullion ! you rampallian ! you fustilarian ! I'll tickle your
catastrophe ' ; u 'Apprehensive, quick, forgetive ' ; 12 ' Feste. I did
impeticos thy gratillity ' (= pocket your gratuity) ; 13 ' Costard. My incony
Jew V4

By endearing expressions, especially Diminutives ,15

English is not, as Greek, Latin, Italian, and Spanish, rich in dimi
nutives ; but, so far as the genius of the language permitted, Shakespeare
sometimes tried, by means of certain comic expressions, to convey the
particular shade of affection or contempt implied in such formations,
thus : ' Thisne, Thisne ' ; 16 ' Whoreson ' (adjectively applied not only
to persons, but to things, in a tone of coarse tenderness, as by
Doll Tearsheet, ' Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig ' 17
' O dainty duck ! O dear ! ' ;18 ' bully ' (with Hercules,19 Hector,20 Bottom,21
&c.) ; ' I did impeticos thy gratillity,' 22 which may be an attempted
diminutive of ' gratuity ' ; ' My sweet ounce of man's flesh ! My in-
cony Jew ! ' 23 Moliere occasionally affected such ' hypocrisms', e.g.
' Ma pauvre fanfan, pouponne de mon ame ', ' Mon petit nez, pauvre
petit bouchon.' 24

1 Cor. II. i. 129. 2 ibid. II. i. 145. 3 ibid. II. i. 71.

4 ibid. IV. v. 223. 5 i Hen. IV, II. i. 81. 6 L. L. L. ill. 67.

7 ibid. IV. i. 69. 8 ibid. V. ii. 682. 9 i Hen. IV, II. ii. 100.

10 ibid. H. ii. 42. n 2 Hen. IV, II. i. 67. 12 ibid. IV. iii. 107.

13 Tw. N. II. iii. 27. u L. L. L. III. 142. 15 ica0' VWOKOPHTTIKOV.

16 17 ' 18

19 M. Wives I. iii. 6. 20 ibid. n. 21 Mid. N. D. in. i. 8. 22 Tw. N. II. iii. 27.
23 L. L. L. III. 142 (Kpcdbt.ov) . 24 L'jSctfr des Maris, II. ix: Sganarelle to Isabella.

218 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

By the alteration or ludicrous perversion of a word's intention by means of
an inflexion of the voice, a gesture, a twinkle of the eyey a change of
expression, — in fact by any of the methods which orators employ (under
the name of actio) to drive home their meaning?

Under this head come * puns ', especially such as the * wise ' term
* paranomasia '. In many cases the * alteration ' is visible to the eye.
Wit of this kind is extraordinarily common in Elizabethan dramas.
Thus : * Falstaff. If reasons [raisins] were as plenty as blackberries,
I would give no man a reason on compulsion, I ' ; 2 * have we not
Hiren (= iron) here ? ' 3 ' Hostess. I must go fetch the third-borough.
Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer him by law ' ; 4 * Let 's
be no stoics nor no stocks * ; 5 * Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh
Jew, Thou mak'st thy knife keen '.6 Similar are Speed's jests on
' ship ', ' sheep ', * lost mutton ', * laced mutton ' ;7 Mercutio's * O their
bons, their bons ! ; 8 GadshilPs * they pray continually to their saint, the
commonwealth ; or rather, not pray to her, but prey on her, for they
ride up and down on her and make her their boots ' ;9 * Chief Justice .
Your means are very slender, and your waste is great. Falstaff. I would
it were otherwise : I would my means were greater and my waist
slenderer ' ; 10 * Chief Justice. There is not a white hair on thy face but
should have his effect of gravity. Falstaff. His effect of gravy, gravy,
gravy ' ; 1] * Speed. Item, She can sew. Launce. That 's as much as
to say, Can she so ? ' One must have nimble and active lungs to
appreciate some of these * turlupinades.'

13

By false analogy, especially in a grammatical sense?

This figure is due to a false conclusion that two or more words,
from being analogous in form, structure, or conjugation, are analogous in
meaning also. Errors of this kind are common in ordinary speech, and
are callecT solecisms, or barbarisms ; in Comedy, however, they are
deliberately employed * for the sake of laughter '. Of this kind are
Dame Quickly 's slips, * bastardly rogue ', * as rheumatic as two dry
toasts ', * honey-suckle villain ', * honey-seed rogue ', * thou hemp-seed ' ;14
Costard's * Thou hast it ad dunghill, at the fingers' ends, as they say ' ;15
' Pompion the Great ' ; 16 Launce 's * I have received my proportion

1 Kara t£a\\ayTjv <j>a>vfi rot? ojmoyeWcri. * / Hen. IV, II. iv. 268.

3 2 Hen. IV, II. iv. 173. 4 Tarn. Sh. Ind. i. 12. • ibid. I. i. 31.

* Merck. ofV. IV. i. 123. 7 Two Gent. I. i. 73 sqq. 8 Rom. &Jul. II. iv. 38.

8 / Hen. IV, II. i. 88. 10 a Hen. IV, I. ii. 161. " ibid. 184.

18 Two Gent. HI. i. 310. 13 Kara TO a\rma A^cwy. w Seeesp.2ffen.fV, II. i. 57 sqq.
16 L. L. L. V. i. 82. le ibid. V. ii. 502.

W. J. M. STARKIE 219

like the prodigious son ' ; * Quince's * he is a very paramour for a
sweet voice ' ; 2 Gobbo's * Sand-blind, high-gravel-blind '. 3 Under
the same head comes false analogy even of a learned kind, such as was
common in English comedies, when logic was more commonly studied
than at present, and the laws of language were attracting attention, but
were not yet understood. These questions had a strange fascination for
Shakespeare and his compeers. Good instances are the following :

Holof ernes. I abhor . . . such rackets of orthography, as to speak dout, fine, when he
should say, doubt ; det, when he should pronounce, debt, — d, e, b, t, not d, e, t : he clepeth
a calf, cauf ; half, hauf ; neighbour vocatur nebour, neigh abbreviated ne. This is abhomin-
able, which he would call abominable — it insinuateth me of insanie.4

Speed. What an ass art thou ! I understand thee not.

Launce. What a block art thou, that thou canst not ! My staff understands me.

Speed. It stands under thee, indeed.

Launce. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one.5

Petr2ichio. Here, Sirrah Grumio ; knock, I say.
Grumio. Knock, Sir ! is there any man has rebused your worship ?
Petrttchw. Villain, I say, knock me here soundly.

Grumio. Knock you here, sir! why, sir, what am I, sir, that I should knock you
here, sir ? 6

B. Laughter is derived from * things ' in the following ways :

By comparisons which are complimentary or degrading.1

The employment of the former * for the sake of laughter ' is not very
common, except in the * Gongoresque ' style of Armado, or the pedantic
Latinisms of Holofernes ; but Falstaff made some splendid experiments
in imitation of Lyly : ' for though the camomile, the more it is trodden
on the faster it grows, yet youth the more it is wasted the sooner it
wears ' ; 8 * There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and
it is known to many in our land by the name of pitch ; this pitch, as
ancient writers do report, doth defile ; so doth the company thou
keepest : for, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in drink but in tears,
not in pleasure but in passion, not in words only, but in woes also \9

More common are instances of deliberate degradation. For a study
of such * odorous ' comparisons, in which Shakespeare almost equals
Aristophanes, take the speeches of Prince Hal — that * most comparative,
rascalliest, sweet young prince ' — and of Falstaff in reply :

Prince. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin : this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this
horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh, —

1 Two Gent. II. iii. 3. 2 Mid. N. D. IV. ii. 13. 3 Merck, of V. II. ii. 37.

* L. L. L. V. i. 19 sqq. 6 Two Gent. II. v. 25 sqq. 6 Tarn. SA. I. ii. 5.

7 ZK TTJS ofxoiwo-eco?, x/37]0"*1 TTpos TO yjtipov, Ttpbs TO /3cAnoz/.

8 I Hen. IV, II. iv. 446. 9 ibid. 458.

220 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

Falstaff. 'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's-tongue, you bull's
pizzle, you stock-fish ! O ! for breath to utter what is like thee ; you tailor's yard, you
sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck ! l

Excellent too are Falstaff's description of himself and his page, ' I do
here walk before thee like a sow that hath overwhelmed all her litter but
one ' ;8 Launce on his sweetheart, * She hath more qualities than a water-
spaniel — which is much in a bare Christian ' ; 3 Falstaff on Bardolph's
nose, * Do you not remember a* saw a flea stick upon Bardolph's
nose, and a* said it was a black soul burning in hell-fire';4 the Boy's
suggestion : * Good Bardolph, put thy face between his sheets and do
the office of a warming-pan. Faith, he 's very ill.' 5 To show how
prodigal Shakespeare was of his imagination in the cause of laughter,
compare 'you are now sailed into the north of my lady's opinion ; where
you will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard';8 'he does smile
his face into more lines than are in the new map with the augmentation
of the Indies ' ; 7 * Now a little fire in a wide field were like an old
lecher's heart ; a small spark, all the rest on 's body cold ' ; 8 ' he no more
remembers his mother now than an eight-year-old horse ; the tart
ness of his face sours ripe grapes : when he walks, he moves like an
engine, and the ground shrinks before his treading : he is able to pierce
a corslet with his eye; talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. . . .
There is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger."

By deception™

In a sense, every metaphor, every jest, is a ' deception ', as it involves
a tension of the mind which is suddenly dissolved, but here the * decep
tion ' is limited to ' things ', and may be illustrated by the plot of nearly
every comedy of intrigue, such as Moliere's. In its more limited
sense, which Aristotle probably intended, it is illustrated by the false
teachers in the Taming of the Shrew ; Falstaff's disguise as a witch ;
Rosalind's * Swashing outside — as many mannish cowards have ' ;
the ambushing of Parolles by his friends. Such ' deceptions ' illustrate
the * sudden glory ' of Hobbes. The most complete example of this
sub -head is that * merry wanderer of the night ', Puck :

I jest to Oberon, and make him smile

When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,

Neighing in likeness of a filly foal :

And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl,

In very likeness of a roasted crab ;

And when she drinks, against her lips I bob

1 i Hen. IV, II. iv. 271. * 2 Hen. IV^ I. ii. 1 1. 3 Two Gent. Hi. i. 272.

4 Hen. V, II. iii. 42. 5 ibid. i. 86. 6 Tw. N. III. ii. 29. 7 ibid. ii. 86.

8 Lear III. iv. 114. 9 Cor. V. iv. 17 sqq. 10 «£ dircm/s.

W. J. M. STARKIE 221

And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale.

The wisest aunt, telling1 the saddest tale,

Sometime for three- foot stool mistaketh me;

Then slip I from her bum, down topples she,

And ' tailor ' cries, and falls into a cough ;

And then the whole quire holds their hips and loff.1

With Mr. Bergson, we may find the origin of this species of the
comic in the pleasure children take in pretending, or in * disfiguring '
various animals and things.

By impossibility?

Under this head come all degrees of unreason and unintelligibility.
For example :

Clown. Bonos dies, Sir Toby : for as the old hermit of Prague, that never saw pen
and ink, very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, ' That, that is, is ' ; so I, being
Master parson, am Master parson ; for, what is ' that ', but ' that ', and ' is ', but ' is ' ? 3

Autolyc^ls. Here 's another ballad of a fish that appeared upon the coast on Wednesday
the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this ballad against
the hard hearts of maids.4

Sir Andrew. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spokest
of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus : 'twas very good,
i' faith.5

Here also must be classed those * most senseless and fit ' men of the
law — Dull, Dogberry, and Elbow ; Launce and his dog, * Ask my dog :
if he say ay, it will ; if he say no, it will ; if he shake his tail and say
nothing, it will ' ; 6 and the countless clowns who, in mistaking the
word, aped their betters, since * foolery doth walk about the orb like
the sun : it shines everywhere '. Shakespeare was, indeed, too wise
not to know that for most of the purposes of human life, stupidity
is a most valuable element, and so cannot be excluded from its due
place in the * comic '. In his inexhaustible humanity, the poet suffered
fools as gladly as he did wiser folk, since, like Sophocles, he was of all
men the most * gentle ', and hated nothing that had blood in it, except
perhaps the hypocrite lago, and the ' prenzy Angelo '.

By that which, while not violating possibility, is devoid of sequence.'1

Here should be classed that deliberate irrelevance which Ben Jonson
called * the game of vapours '.

Falstaff. By the Lord, thou sayest true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern
a most sweet wench ?

1 Mid. N. D. II. i. 44. 2 & r&v towArw. z Tw. N. IV. ii. 14.

4 Wint. Tale IV. iii. 277. 5 Tw. N. II. iii. 20. ' Two Gent. n. v. 36.

7 €K TOV bvvdrov Kal ava.KO\ovOov.

222 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

Prince Hal. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff
jerkin a most sweet robe of durance ?

Falstaft. How now, how now, mad wag ? what, in thy quips and thy quiddities ? what
a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin ?

Prince Hal. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern ? J

For studies in comic illogicality, the reader may be referred to the
professional unreason of Costard, Dull, Dogberry, Verger, Froth,
Elbow, and the rest of the glorious ' thar-boroughs ', who, as is not
unknown among officials, exalt the letter of their regulations above the
spirit : nor must we forget Dame Quickly 's * twice sod simplicity '.
* Thou didst swear to me upon a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my Dolphin-
chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, upon Wednesday in
Wheeson week, when the prince broke thy head for liking his father to
a singing-man of Windsor ' ; 2 Launce's irony ; Touchstone's dullness
which was * the whetstone of the wits ' ; * the contagious breath ' of
Feste, who wore no * motley in his brain ', and was * wise enough to
play the fool, and to do that well craves a kind of wit '. Witness his
immortal saw * Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage *.8 Bergson
remarks that comic logic consists in ideas counterfeiting true reasoning
just sufficiently to deceive a mind dropping off to sleep. Of this kind
is Falstaff s immortal soliloquy on Honour :

What need I be so forward with him that calls not on me? Well, 'tis no matter;
honour pricks me on. Yes, but how if honour prick me oft when I come on ? how then ?
Can honour set to a leg ? No. Or an arm ? No. Or take away the grief of a wound ?
No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then ? No. What is honour ? a word. What is
that word, honour ? Air. A trim reckoning ! Who hath it ? he that died o' Wednesday.
Doth he feel it ? No. Doth he hear it ? No. It is insensible then ? Yea, to the dead.
But will it not live with the living ? No. Why ? Detraction will not suffer it. Therefore
111 none of it : honour is a mere scutcheon ; and so ends my catechism.4

It cannot be proved that Moliere was a student of Shakespeare as
he was of Aristophanes, and so it is a curious coincidence that Sganarelle
(Sganarelle, sc. xvii) when contemplating a duel, employed the same
reasoning about * honour ' as Falstaff does.

By the unexpected?

The comic effects of the * unexpected ' are so varied that many
writers have extended it so as to cover the whole field of the laughable.
Thus, Kant has defined the * comic * as the result of an expectation
which of a sudden ends in nothing. Similar is M. Bergson 's theory
of the ludicrous effect of inelasticity or want of adaptability, since
adaptability is necessary to the well-being of society, and laughter is

1 i Hen. IV, I. ii. 44. 3 2 Hen. IV, II. i. 96. 3 Tw. N. I. v. 20.

4 I Hen. IV, V. i. 129. * ex T&V irapa -npoabouav.

W. J. M. STARKIE 223

the corrective of qualities regarded as unsound or disturbing of its
equanimity.. From this point of view, the laughable is something rigid
imposed on the living. Thus, Bardolph's nose is laughable as having
the appearance of being created by Art, ' all bubukles and whelks and
knobs and flames of fire ', and independent of self. Laughable too is
a person treated as a thing, as Falstaff in the buck-basket, and cooled,
glowing hot, in the Thames, like a horse-shoe. Aristotle limited

* surprise 'to * things * (situations, &c.), but a great deal of the pleasure
derived from this source arises from words which create tension, e. g.
bold metaphors, comparisons, sudden turns of phrase, such as con
stitute, in large measure, the ' comic ' in Aristophanes. These are not
very common in Shakespeare, but the following thoroughly Aristophanic
turn may be quoted : ' I was as virtuously given as a gentleman need
to be ; virtuous enough ; swore little ; diced not above seven times
a week ; went to a bawdy-house not above once in a quarter — of an
hour ; paid money that I borrowed three or four times ' (/ Hen. IV,
in. iii. 1 6). Falstaff was also the cause that such wit was in his friends,
4 A rascal bragging slave ! the rogue fled from me like quicksilver.
Doll. F faith, and thou followedst him like a church.' 1

By representing characters as worse than nature?
We learn from Aristotle's Poetic that Aeschylus represented men
as better, Euripides as worse than nature. That is to say, Euripides
painted life as he conceived it, in realistic colours, with all its foibles
and weaknesses, and thus became the forerunner of Menander, Plautus,
Terence, and Moliere. The standpoint of Aristophanes and Shakespeare
was different. Being a political lampooner Aristophanes' aim was to
treat contemporary ideals as dross. The philosophers, like Socrates ;
the demagogues, like Cleon, Hyperbolus, and Cleophon ; the statesmen,
like Pericles, and even Nicias, the gods themselves, were not spared.
In the Knights, the demagogues are blackguards, brazen-faced, illiterate,
filthy knaves, whose only qualifications are ' a horrid voice, an evil
origin, a swashbuckler temperament ' : fortified with these * com
plements ', * they have every qualification needed for success in political
life '. The circumstances of the time excluded Shakespeare from
politics, and his temperament, and possibly his inexperience of court
life, did not fit him for such social satire as is found in Moliere, but
an exception must be made. In Troilus and Cressida, Timon, and
Coriolanus, for some unexplained reason, the poet adopted the role of an

* ironic caricaturist ', with a malignity unequalled in Juvenal and Swift.

1 2 Hen. IV, II. iv. 246. 2 (K TOV KaTao-KwdCfiv ra irpoVcoTra irpos TO \flpov.

224 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

Ostensibly, however, he spared his contemporaries, and vented the
accumulated bitterness of his heart upon men who had been safely
hearsed for some thousands of years.

Satire was a dangerous weapon in the spacious days of great
Elizabeth, but a satirist ran no risk in calling Achilles ' a drayman, a
porter, a very camel ' ; * or in accusing Ajax of wearing * his wits in
his belly, and his guts in his head ' ; 2 or of having ' not so much wit
as will stop the eye of Helen's needle ' ; 3 the wit of Ulysses and Nestor
might safely be said to have been * mouldy ere your grandsires had nails
on their toes * ; 4 Agamemnon might have * not so much wit as ear-wax ' ; 5
and Diomede might be * a dissembling abominable varlet '.* In
caricaturing the tribunes in Coriolanus, and the once popular character
Jack Cade, he came nearer to his own time, but neither the government
nor the mob felt their withers wrung. But one may wonder that the
* groundlings ' did not fling their sweaty night-caps at him when he
spoke of the people — true, it was the Roman people — as * our musty
superfluity ' ; 7 ' beastly plebeians ', 8 whose only duty was to * wash
their face and keep their teeth clean '.9 From his experience in the
theatre, Shakespeare seems to have had a physical repulsion from ' the
mutable, rank-scented many ' ; 10 * common cry of curs ! whose breath
I hate As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead
carcases of unburied men That do corrupt my air ' ; n * a pile of
noisome musty chaff V2

By the use of vulgar dancing.™

This is not so fruitful a subject in Shakespeare as in Aristophanes
and Moliere, but comic measures were occasionally employed by him to
please those in his audience who were capable of nothing but inex
plicable dumb shows and noise. Thus, Sir Andrew * danced fantasti
cally ' and was most tyrannically clapped by Sir Toby ; * Why dost
thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a coranto ? My
very walk should be a jig : I would not so much as make water but in
a sink-a-pace.' 14

When one has a choice, by disregarding the best, and taking the

inferior sorts.15

This sub-head is somewhat like * the barber's chair, which suits
every buttock ', but Aristotle probably would have limited it to cases

1 Troilus I. ii. 267. 2 ibid. II. i. 78. 3 ibid. 84. 4 ibid. 1 14.

5 ibid. V. i. 58. ° ibid. V. iv. a. 7 Cor. I. i. 232. 8 ibid. II. i. 107.

9 ibid. II. iii. 65. 10 ibid. III. i. 65. " ibid. III. 3. 118.

* ibid. V. i. 25. 13 IK TOV xpij<T6ai </>opTiK7? opx^«. 14 Tw. N. I. iii. 138.

l5. QTOV TIS TUV i£ov<riai' e-^vTutv naptis TO. jWyiora (ra) ^avAorara \anfidvr].

W. J. M. STARKIE 225

such as the following : ' The same Sir John, the very same. I saw
him break Skogan's head at the court gate, when a' was a crack not thus
high : and the very same day did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish,
a fruiterer, behind Gray's Inn. Jesu ! Jesu ! the mad days that I have
spent.' 1 ' You (tribunes) wear out a good wholesome forenoon in
hearing a cause between an orange- wife and a fosset-seller, and then
rejourn the controversy of three-pence to a second day of audience.' 2
' This peace is nothing but to rust iron, increase tailors, and breed
ballad-makers. . . . Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy ; mulled, deaf,
sleepy, insensible ; a getter of more bastard children than war 's a
destroyer of men.' 3

By using language which is incoherent, though there may be no lack of

(grammatical) sequence*

The best illustration of such ' incoherence ' is Nym, the man of
* humours ', whp heard that * men of few words are the best men ; and
therefore he scorned to say his prayers, lest a' should be thought a
coward '. 'Be avised, sir, and pass good humours. I will say " marry
trap," with you, if you run the nuthook's humour on me : that is the
very note of it '.5 But Dogberry must not be forgotten : ' Write down
that they hope they serve God : and write God first ; for God defend
but God should go before such villains ! Masters, it is proved already
that you are little better than false knaves, and it will go near to be
thought so shortly '.6

Such is Aristotle's analysis of the comic. Though thorough and
conscientious, it is somewhat mechanical and external ; 7 and, like all
such analyses (even those of Professor Sully and M. Bergson), does
little justice to the combination, in Aristophanes and Shakespeare, of
wit, gaiety, swiftness of apprehension, lightness of touch, obscenity,
frivolity, and above all, the power to touch pitch without being defiled —
the ability to rise from * the laystalls ' of buffoonery on the wings of the
most delicate fancy. For example, Falstaff, while affording instances
of every one of the above sub-heads, presents a great deal more that
does not submit to any analysis. As Bagehot said of him, * If most men
were to save up all the gaiety of their whole lives, it would come about
to the gaiety of one speech of Falstaff.' Indeed there was much in

1 2 Hen. IV, ill. ii. 32. 2 Cor. II. i. 78. 3 ibid. IV. v. 235 sqq.

4 orav acrvv&pTrjTOs 77 77 Ae£is KOI ^bcp-Cav &vaKO\ovdiav €\<i>v.

5 M. Wives I. i. 171. 6 Much Ado IV. ii. 21.

7 Cp. Quiller-Couch, The Art^ of Writing^ p. 105: 'All classifying of literature
intrudes " science " upon an art, and is artificially " scientific ", a trick of pedants.'

226 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

common between the ages of Pericles and Elizabeth which impressed
itself upon the language of Aristophanes and Shakespeare, so full is it
of the intense animal spirits, of the freshness, daring, and intellectual
vigour of those extraordinary days when, as it seems, every one from
heroes to catchpoles, spoke in a tongue that was of imagination all
compact. Shakespeare is said to have used fifteen thousand words —
Milton being a bad second with eight thousand : we cannot say the
like of Aristophanes, in relation to his literary compeers, as their works
are lost, but the richness of his comic vocabulary is extraordinary (I have
counted sixty-three nonce-words in a single play), and is equalled by
that of Shakespeare and Rabelais alone. Hence he cannot be translated,
so as to give the full effect of his language, except in the diction of
Shakespeare. Certainly modern slang is not a suitable medium ; it is
too ephemeral, too poverty-stricken, trivial, and mean, too little tinged
with the hues of imagination which are never absent in Aristophanes.
Be that as it may, many passages, hitherto held to be untranslatable,
may be readily clothed in an Elizabethan, if not Shakespearian, dress :
for example, take the celebrated passage in the Clouds (recited with
breathless speed) :

Let them take me and do with me what they will. This back of mine I bequeath to be
hungry and thirsty, to be beaten with rods, to be frozen, to be flayed into a pell, if I can
but shuffle off my debts, and appear to the world a thrasonical, plausible patch, a go-ahead
knave, sheer bounce, a whoreson wretch, a mint of lies, a coiner of phrases, a court-hack,
a walking code-book, a clapper, a fox, a gimlet, a cheveril glove, a rogue in grain, smooth
as oil, a bragging Jack, a halter-sack, a scroyle, a boggier, a hard nut, a miching mallecho.
If they give me these additions, when they meet me, let them do their very worst — aye, by
Demeter, if they list, let them make of me a dish of chitterlings to set before the minute
philosophers.1

Even Aristophanes' most difficult puns can be readily Shakespeari-
anized. Thus, * I wonder why the flue is smoking. Halloa ! who are
you ? ' * My name is Smoke : I'm trying to get out.' ' Smoke ? Let
me see ; what wood 's smoke are you ? ' * Medlar wood.' ' Aye, the
meddler. 'Tis the most searching of all smokes.' z ' Is your name
Utis ? ' 3 'I warrant there'll be no utis here for you.4

1 Clouds, 439. 2 Wasps, 143 : Apemantus' jest, Timon IV. iii. 309.

3 Owns : Ulysses' jest whereby he deceived the Cyclopes.

4 Wasps, 1 86 (Utis = ' merriment', cp. a Hen. IV, II. iv. 21, 'First Draw. By the
mass, here will be old Utis : it will be an excellent stratagem ').

W. J. M. STARKIE.

A. R. SKEMP 227

GOD-LIKE is the poet's power, to pass
Beyond the narrow limits of his being,
And share in many lives. Another's pain,
Aloofly pitied by land, common men,
Stabs him with equal pang ; another's joy
He sees not as an alien spectacle
But feels with quickened beat of his own blood
And kindred triumph singing in his breast.
Through him the world's life surges ; in his song
Its din of clashing inarticulate tones
Grows meaningful and musical. His voice
Utters the Word of Power that breaks the spell
Binding the sleeping beauty of the world :
She stirs, and customary night grows pale ;
She wakes, and dawn is kindled at her eyes ;
She rises, and the prince in every heart
Beholds and worships his long-dreamed-of bride.

There is a spark of God in every soul
Conscious of being ; a diviner flame
Burns in the poet's deeper, wider life ;
And in thy spirit, Shakespeare, more intense,
More luminous than in all poets else
Shines the eternal sacred fire ; for thou
Alone of all man's priesthood, lived for all,
And gave our multitudinous mortal being
Its conscious soul for ever. Still through thee
Beats into us the pulse of all their lives
Who lived once in thy soul ; our finite lives
Reach through thee out into the infinite.

A. R. SKEMP.

THE UNIVERSITY, BRISTOL.

1 From a longer poem by the writer.

228 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

HAKESPEAT{E <4S THE CENTAL TOINT IN

IN adding my own word on Shakespeare to the chorus of
universal homage I speak as a student whose particular field of work
is, not English Literature, but World Literature : the general litera
ture of the whole world seen in perspective from the standpoint of
the English-speaking civilization. In such a field of view Shake
speare makes the central point : the mountain-top dominating the
whole landscape. As in the Middle Ages all roads led to Rome, so
in the study of World Literature all lines of thought lead to or from
Shakespeare.

It has been said that for the achievement of literary greatness two
powers must concur : the Man and the Moment. The concurrence
has for once taken place without limitations : a supreme literary indi
viduality has been projected upon an historic situation that affords it
scope for its fullest realization.

In Shakespeare we have the accident of genius that brings all the
powers of poetry together to make one poet. Grasp of human nature,
the most profound, the most subtle ; responsiveness to emotion through
out its whole scale, from tragic pathos to rollicking jollity, with a middle
range, over which plays a humour like the innumerable twinklings of
a laughing ocean ; powers of imagination so instinctive that to perceive
and to create seem the same mental act ; a sense of symmetry and pro
portion that will make everything it touches into art ; mastery of lan
guage, equally powerful for the language that is the servant of thought
and the language that is a beauty in itself ; familiarity with the par
ticular medium of dramatic representation so practised that it seems a
misnomer to call it technique ; an ear for music that makes the rhythm
of lyrics, of rhyme, of verse, of prose, each seem natural while it lasts,
and spontaneously varies these rhythms with every varying shade of

R. G. MOULTON 229

thought : all these separate elements of poetic force, any one of which
in conspicuous degree might make a poet, are in Shakespeare found
in combination. The varied powers have blended with so much of
measure and harmony that force masks itself as simplicity ; what
Shakespeare achieves he seems to achieve with * the effortless strength
of the gods '.

The point of history at which Shakespeare appears is the period
when the Renaissance has reached its full strength, and before dissipa
tion of its forces has set in. The Renaissance brought together the
three great things of literature : the newly recovered classics of ancient
Greece, the mediaeval accumulations of romance, and a universally
diffused Bible. The unity of Europe throughout the Middle Ages had
constituted a vast gathering-ground for the richest poetic material.
Western and oriental folk-lores, Christian religion and story, had come
together in a Roman world which was the heir of the ancient Hellenic
civilization. In the quiescence of all critical restraint the varied elements
had coalesced into the literary exuberance which future ages were to
wonder at as * romance '. The whole material of Shakespeare's plays
is drawn from this romance ; as the Miracle Play had sought only to
dramatize incidents of the Bible, so the Shakespearian drama sets out to
dramatize mediaeval histories and stories. On the other hand, Greek
tragedy and comedy make the most concentrated form of art the world
has known : a whole story is compelled into the presentation of a single
situation, upon which plays the combined power of dramatic and lyric,
and sometimes even of epic poetry. The Shakespearian conception of
plot stands to classical plot as in music harmony stands to unison ;
the plots of these plays are federations of the single stories that sufficed
for classical dramas, with the details of these stories romantically
expanded. Yet the highest constructive skill may fail if the poet has
a narrow philosophy of human life. In Shakespeare's age the profound
conception of life which underlies the Bible had become a general
possession ; and it was a Bible still in its full force as literature, un
touched as yet by the coming tendency to stiffen into Puritan literalism
or harden into religious controversy. The genius of Shakespeare
seizes the essentials of the three grand literary types, and escapes
the threatening limitations. In Shakespeare's own phrase, we have
* the law of writ and the liberty ' : rules of art vanish in the higher law
of inspired creative liberty.

With literature such as this the only method for the teacher is
summed up in the word interpretation. The history of criticism upon

Q

230 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

Shakespeare comes out as a series of retreating attacks ; critical systems
formulated in more limited fields of art, when confronted with Shake
spearian drama, can only reveal what in criticism had become obsolete.
Analysis of Shakespeare implies reverent contemplation of the poetic
product until the underlying principles have revealed themselves. It
is the method of natural science : for, when Shakespeare is the subject
of study, Poetry has become Nature.

R. G. MOULTON.

C. H. HERFORD 231

THE GE<KMAN CONTRIBUTION TO

C^TICISM

THE War has made impracticable the co-operation of any German
Shakespeare scholar in this collective tribute to his memory. But no
estrangement, however bitter and profound — still less the occasional
extravagance of German claims — can affect the history of the services
rendered by Germany to the study and interpretation of Shakespeare,
or their claim to recognition at our hands. The following sketch seeks
merely to indicate some salient points. Of the work done in detail it is
impossible within the present limits to offer even the baldest summary.
A history of the growth and vicissitudes of Shakespeare's German
fame, as such, lies outside our present purpose.

German Shakespeare criticism began late. When Lessing, in the
Litter aturbrieje (1759), delivered its first remarkable utterance, Voltaire
had been for nearly thirty years by turns the patronizing champion and
the jealous assailant of the English poet. But the German discovery,
if tardier, was of far better augury. In France Shakespeare had to
contend with a great national literary tradition, and with the bias, only
fitfully overcome, of a deeply ingrained Latin culture. In Germany he
threatened no national idols ; her own earlier classical age was remote
and utterly forgotten ; her Gallic taste was a superficial veneer ; and
she stood on the verge of an intellectual and spiritual Renascence, in
which the Shakespearian influence itself was to be one of the most
potent factors. Their first acquaintance with Shakespeare was, both
to Lessing himself, and even more to Herder and the young Goethe,
a liberating experience, which discovered them to themselves and
discovered to them also, at times, aspects of Shakespeare himself which
his own countrymen had less distinctly seen. In sheer critical calibre
none of the three was, perhaps, superior to the greatest of their English
predecessors. But they saw Shakespeare with eyes freed from some
obstructions incident to the special circumstances and history of England,

Q2

232 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

and quickened also by new kinds of intellectual and poetic experience.
None of them, certainly, understood Shakespeare so intimately as
Dryden. But Lessing, at once a sharp assailant of French classicism
and a brilliant Hellenist, perceived more clearly than any predecessor
the extent of the divergence between the former and Aristotle; and
moreover, what had been at most suggested by a French rebel or two
before, that the deeper teaching of Aristotle was not traversed but
illustrated and confirmed by Shakespeare. Lessing doubtless put the
case strongly ; he was making a point against French tragedy. But his
trenchant assertion that Shakespeare, without knowing Aristotle, had
come nearer to him than Corneille, who knew him well, was nevertheless
a discovery ; one which a more scholarly Dryden, or a non-Puritan
Milton, might conceivably have anticipated, but which neither
approached. The too rigid antithesis between Shakespeare's * Nature '
and the * rules ' in which criticism had hitherto moved, Lessing in
effect broke down ; with him, it is hardly too much to say, begins the
study of Shakespeare's mind and art.

Herder, too, thought that Aristotle * would have greeted Shakespeare
as a new Sophocles '. He regarded both, however, less as artists than
as poetic creators who, as such, had enlarged the realm of reality. This
Greek thought had become, as a lively figure of speech, a commonplace
of criticism ; with Herder, and the German idealists of the next genera
tion, it became once more a living faith : ' Here we have no feigner
(Dichter)' he exclaimed ; * but creation ; history of the world ; ' a
conception which, however rhapsodically stated and extravagantly
applied, powerfully promoted the study of the Shakespearian drama
neither as * imitation ' of actuality nor as fictitious departure from it, but
as the authentic document of a higher though related form of existence,
with its own laws of life, by which alone it was to be judged. To judge
it by extrinsic * rules ' was to commit an irrelevance. Many had
defended or excused Shakespeare for not observing them : few, if any,
had anticipated Herder's indignant repudiation of the very attempt to
defend him for it.

Goethe, who, as a Leipzig student, * devoured ' Shakespeare in 1766,
withdrew later from the unqualified idolatry of his early manhood. But
Goetz von Berlichingen(ijj^) is beyond question the finest play inspired by
Shakespeare's Histories. And the famous analysis of Hamlet in WiUielm
Meister (Lehrjahre, Book iv. ch. 13), though misleading and in some of its
implications quite wrong, virtually started the Hamlet problem. The
simile of the * costly vase ' with the oak-tree planted in it did not solve, or

C. H. HERFORD

233

even rightly state, that problem, but it threw out a valuable hint towards
its solution. Hamlet, for Goethe, was only the frail vase, — the ' beautiful,
pure, and noble being ' on whom too heavy a burden is laid. But it
was soon perceived that Hamlet's strength as well as his weakness is
implicated in his failure ; that he is in some sort the oak-tree as well as
the vase. A. W. Schlegel was apparently the first to declare that his
intellectual energy was a direct source of his inaction. He even asserted
that Shakespeare wrote with the intention of showing that ' calculating
consideration which exhausts all the possible consequences of a deed '
is bound to have this effect. But Schlegel equally recognized that
Hamlet's intellectual energy is sometimes the outcome, instead of the
cause, of his desire not to act, — that * his far-fetched scruples are often
mere pretexts to cover his want of determination ' ; and with this qualifi
cation, his view, reinforced, after its publication, by the analogous
theory of Coleridge, became predominant in Hamlet discussion during
the greater part of the nineteenth century. None of his German con
temporaries rivalled Schlegel in comprehensive appreciation of Shake
speare — an advantage which he owed to the experience of transfusing most
of the plays, line by line, into his own language ; his translation is itself
a splendid tribute to Shakespeare, as moonlight to the sun. Among
contemporary Englishmen, Coleridge, Lamb, and Hazlitt, in the pre
vious generation Morgann, more than equalled him in delicacy and
sureness of feeling. Yet Hazlitt did not greatly overstate the case when
he said that it had been reserved for Schlegel to give reasons for the
faith in Shakespeare which Englishmen entertained. Hazlitt himself
no doubt brilliantly took up his own challenge. But Schlegel had then
been for ten years in the field.

Of SchlegeFs fellow romantics, even of his brilliant younger brother,
little need here be said ; they contributed at most to heighten the
prestige and popularity of the more fantastic side of Shakespeare's art,
which appealed to their characteristic distaste for actuality. Nor did
Goethe and Schiller effect anything by their quasi-classical adaptations
of Romeo and Juliet and Macbeth but the completer triumph of Shake
speare's authentic art on the German stage itself. To Eckermann,
however, in his last years, Goethe addressed many acute and original
remarks about the plays, which are still of value.

Among Schlegel's contemporaries there was nevertheless one who,
though in no sense specially occupied with Shakespeare, was to exercise
an enormous influence, for a generation, upon German interpretation of
him. Hegel, even more than the later Goethe, approached Shakespeare

234 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

from the side of the Greeks, and his aesthetic ideals, if not inspired by
Greek art, were there most completely fulfilled. But the greatest of
modern thinkers upon poetry was not likely to contribute nothing to
the criticism of the greatest modern dramatist ; and Hegel's theory of
tragedy, as Mr. Bradley has shown,1 if inadequate as it stands to the
tragedy of Shakespeare, implicitly illuminates some neglected aspects
of it. But Hegel's effect upon Shakespeare criticism was exercised
mainly through his system as a whole, which between 1820 and 1840
permeated and mastered all the currents of German thought. In
literary criticism his influence immensely stimulated that German super
stition of the * fundamental idea ' against which Goethe had levelled
a memorable sarcasm.2 The well-known commentary of Ulrici (1839),
and in a less degree that of Gervinus (1849), were monuments of
intellectual energy inspired by a misleading assumption. But, as so
constantly with Hegel himself, falsity of the main thesis did not exclude
abundant by-products of subtle observation which would not have been
made without it ; the light might lead astray, but its gleam discovered
many a casual jewel by the wayside. After the middle of the century
the Hegelian spell subsided ; and in the brilliant lectures of F. Kreyssig,
the philosophy of the * Idea ' survives only as an acute perception of
organic unity, shorn of metaphysical exuberance, and solidified with
shrewd judgement and Elizabethan scholarship. How fruitful, in this
combination, Hegel's specific theory of drama can still be, is apparent
from the influence it has confessedly exerted upon the most important
contemporary discussion of Shakespearian tragedy among ourselves.

The decline of Hegel's prestige meant everywhere a recovery of the
temper of sober, matter-of-fact research. Thenceforward the most im
portant Shakespearian work of Germany was done in this temper, fortified
by her iron industry ; the fifty volumes of the Shakespeare-Jahrbuch (from
1864) are its imposing monument. In the investigation of Shakespeare's
life, and in the finer handling of his style and verse, German scholars have
seldom competed on equal terms with those of England and America. But
in the exhaustive analysis of published literary material they can point to
an extraordinary mass of solid and valuable work. Merely as examples
it must suffice to cite the numerous studies of Shakespeare's sources, of
his debt to his dramatic predecessors, of his use of prose and verse, of his
grammar and syntax, of his mythology and folk-lore, and, recently, of

1 Oxford Lectures on Poetry, p. 85 f. ; the view that * on both sides in the tragic
conflict there is a spiritual value '.

8 Eckermann, Gesprache, III, u/f. (May 6, 1827).

C. H. HERFORD 235

his stage technique. The outlying topic of the plays performed by
Elizabethan actors in Germany has remained a German speciality.
And the gratitude of Shakespeare students all over the world is due to
the great Lexicon produced, in his scanty leisure, single-handed, by the
labour and sagacity of Alexander Schmidt.

Germany's contribution to Shakespeare study may thus be summed
up as of two kinds : first, rigorous and exhaustive sifting of the literary
material ; second, a wealth of ideas, — hypotheses, generalizations,
apergus — often fanciful, sometimes in the highest degree extravagant,
even laughable, but put forward with an intellectual seriousness, and
applied with a passion for truth, which have made them often more
fruitful than the soberer speculations of more temperate minds.

C. H. HERFORD.

THE UNIVERSITY,
MANCHESTER.

236

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

TWO SONNETS

1616

BY Avon's stream, glassed in its rippling blue,
Rises the great grey church, now glorified
By a new inmate. See, the doors stand wide,

And little maids, first peeping shyly through,

Steal in on tiptoe. * Ah, the tale is true !
An open grave there by the chancel's side !
And Master Sexton works with what a pride !

There surely lies the man whom all will rue.

4 How oft we've met him on our homeward way
Calling his dogs, or dreaming 'neath a tall,

O'ershadowing elm ! and once he spoke to you !
The richest man in Stratford, so they say,
Aye, and the wisest, and, says Doctor Hall,
A famous name he has at London too ! '

G. C. MOORE SMITH 237

1916

WE know thee now at last, Poet divine !

The clearest-eyed of these three hundred years,

Master supreme of laughter and of tears,
Magical Maker of the mightiest line !
When to dark doubts our England would resign,

Thy patriot-voice recalls her from her fears ;

Shakespeare of England, still thy country rears
Thy pillar and with treasure loads thy shrine !

Nor only England's art thou. England's foe
Stoops to thy sway, and thou alone dost bind

When all the bonds of statecraft snap and cease,
O sign of comfort in a sky of woe !
Above the warring waves and shrieking wind
Thy starry Spirit shines and whispers * Peace '.

G. C. MOORE SMITH,

SHEFFIELD.

238 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

<BIBLIOGCI{APHE(F£S <P<F(AISE

SHAKESPEARE has been claimed as a member of many professions,
a rider of many hobbies. It is unlikely that any one will be found
to maintain that he was either a librarian or a bibliographer. He
has, however, given both librarians and bibliographers plenty to do,
and from the results of their labours a few facts of some interest
may be gleaned as to his early popularity, which may be accepted as
a bibliographer's * praise '.

The first proof of the popularity of Shakespeare's writings with
his contemporaries lies in the numerous editions of his poems, and their
extreme rarity. Venus and Adonis reached its twelfth edition in 1636,
and, according to Sir Sidney Lee's reckoning, of the dozen editions
less than a score of copies survive, while seven editions of Lucrece (the
seventh in 1632) yield but thirty. A second proof may be found in the
frequent attempts to pirate his plays. To run the risk of fine and for
feiture a piratical printer must have felt sure of a speedy profit on his
outlay for print and paper, and only plays that had won a striking success
on the boards could promise this. The pirates have been credited with
more triumphs than they achieved, but their hits kept Shakespeare's
company on the alert, and they scored heavily by capturing Henry V,
the most vigorous and patriotic of the histories, and less decisively with
The Merry Wives of Windsor, popular, it is to be feared, rather for its
grossness than its fun, and Romeo and Juliet, the most passionate of the
tragedies. As Mr. Madan has pointed out, we have another proof of
the popularity of Romeo and Juliet in the special signs of wear on the
leaves of this play in the copy presented by the Stationers' Company
to the Bodleian Library at Oxford, where it was doubtless read chiefly
by the young Bachelors of Arts. Next to Romeo and Juliet the play
most popular with these Oxford readers was a classical tragedy, Julius
Caesar.

By the double test of many editions and few surviving copies we
know that in his own day Shakespeare's most striking successes were

A. W. POLLARD 239

won with his Histories. The Second Part of King Henry IV fell flat
from the press, but Richard II, Richard III, the First Part of King
Henry IV ', and Henry V were all great successes, running through five
and six editions apiece before 1623, and so bethumbed that in some
instances only a single copy survives. It must seem curious to us now
that such of Shakespeare's comedies as were printed during his life sold
but poorly. The Midsummer Night's Dream may have done fairly well,
but neither The Merchant of Venice nor Much Ado about Nothing can
have brought much profit to its publishers, and when The Merchant of
Venice was reprinted, in 1637, so slow was its sale that as late as 1652
it was worth while to print a new title-page and reissue the old stock
under the guise of another edition.

In the first years after the Restoration it may have seemed for a
while as if Shakespeare was on the brink of passing into the ranks of
obsolete dramatists. Neither his histories nor his comedies pleased
the playgoers who took their cue from King Charles II. But soon after
1670 his tragedies began to come by their own, and by the end of the
century Hamlet, Julius Caesar, and Othello were all established successes.
Thenceforward Shakespeare's hold on the theatre has never relaxed.

Of Shakespeare's popularity with readers, as distinct from theatre
goers willing to buy a book of the play, the evidence is decisive. Four
great Folio editions were sold in the seventeenth century, and in the
eighteenth a succession of editors — Rowe, Pope, Theobald, Hanmer,
Warburton, Capell, Johnson, Steevens, Malone — worked on his text.
Until more than half the century had elapsed the representatives of the
original publishers claimed the copyright of his works, but they behaved
with some liberality to his editors, and it was only the cheap editions
which they delayed. Towards the end of the century these became
common, while as early as 1746 there appeared a French translation,
and sixteen years later a German. No previous English writer had
attained any such vogue in the century which followed his death.

The collecting of early editions of Shakespeare's works began with
his editors and actors, Capell, Steevens, and Malone being the most
prominent among the former, Garrick and Kemble among the latter.
By the end of the eighteenth century the four large Folio editions pub
lished in its predecessor had won a place fairly high on the list of books
without which no collection could be called of the first rank ; but the
Quartos, perhaps because of the abuse with which they had been un
critically loaded by the very editors who accepted their readings, were
still sought after only by specialists in the English drama. In our own

240 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

day a single Quarto has fetched a price higher than had ever been paid
a few years ago for the finest copy of the First Folio, and a complete set
of the first editions, published before 1623, has a higher pecuniary
value than any other set of printed books occupying so few inches of
shelf-room.

Bibliography, which of late years has cleared up a few misconcep
tions of literary editors, notably by proving that the edition of The
Merchant of Venice which they accepted as the first was printed nine
teen years after the date it bears on its title, has still something to do
for Shakespeare. But the task is attended by an unusual difficulty.
A few years ago quite a promising attempt to determine the number
of presses used in printing the First Folio by the recurrence of certain
bends in the brass rules which enclose the text on its pages was wrecked
by the perpetual attractiveness of the letterpress at the foot of the
columns. The problems of Shakespeare's punctuation and use of
emphasis capitals, which offer a fair hope of recovering the alternations
of level pace with rush or pause with which he intended his set speeches
to be delivered, are hampered by an even greater hindrance of the same
kind. But here at least the effort to extract results from minute investi
gations is worth the making. To help forward the better understanding
of Shakespeare's text is surely as good a hobby as a quiet man need
desire.

ALFRED W. POLLARD.

A. W. WARD

241

1616 <AND ITS CENTENA^ES

To trace the influence exercised upon a nation's history by a master
spirit of its literature could never be an unfitting employment for the
student of either. And least of all could any attempt in this direction
be deemed out of season, if made at a time when the revolving years
specially recall the close of a life to the achievements of which a nation
owes part of its greatness, and when its annals happen to have reached
a stage destined to mark decisively the advance or the decline of its
vitality. Contemporary witnesses of crises of this sort, whether them
selves taking an active part in the settlement of the issues at stake, or
surviving long enough to look back upon them as carried to a conclusion,
can rarely measure the whole bearing, or define the exact significance,
of the problems that occupy, or have occupied, the national attention.
But where the moral and intellectual as well as the material resources
of a nation are consciously thrown into the balance, the contributory
inspiring and sustaining forces, among which the products of literary
genius are most assuredly to be numbered, must necessarily be taken
into account with the rest. The three successive centenaries of the
year of Shakespeare's death, like that year itself, sufficiently, though not
with the absolute precision of a school manual, mark the beginnings
of very distinct epochs of the highest importance for the development
of our national life, more especially in its relation to the life of other
nations. This aspect of a Shakespeare Commemoration, which brings
many of us together, at least in spirit, in the midst of the world's
strife, therefore seems to call for notice, however slight, together with
others appealing more directly to the reverential gratitude which is his
for all time.

The actual year of Shakespeare's death is marked in our political
history most conspicuously by an event — the fall of Somerset — of so
secondary an importance as to have made no real difference in James I's
negotiations with Spain and in his hope to make a Spanish alliance the
corner-stone of his foreign policy. His mind was not yet made up, and

242 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

it was in this very year that he allowed Raleigh to depart on his last
and fatal voyage. Only three years since, James had given his daughter
in marriage to the young Elector Palatine, the crowning sign of his
intimate alliance with militant Protestantism. And, two years later,
there was to break out what proved one of the most protracted and
(after every allowance has been made for overstatement) one of the
most calamitous wars that have at any time convulsed a great part of
European civilization. That England, after much and eager debate,
should as a state not have become involved in the earlier phases of the
struggle, and thus, with the Pope and the Sultan, have stood aside from
the pacification which concluded it, was due to a twofold cause. But
though her isolation during the whole later course of the Thirty Years'
War was a consequence of the internal conflicts which rose to their
height under James Fs successor and led to the Great Civil War, it was
the pacific policy of James himself that restrained her at the outset,
when the country at large — not the Puritan or the war party only, but
the public as a whole, and court and clergy with the rest — were in favour
of war with Spain. James Fs mind was capable of grasping the condi
tions of the great problem of peace or war, though not of effectively
addressing itself to the actual situation, which is always the touchstone
of real political capacity ; and he perceived — what the body of his
subjects could not follow him in perceiving — the danger of identifying
England with the aggressive and even, in Protestant Germany,
isolated policy of his Calvinist son-in-law. But he was blind to the
folly of depending for the maintenance of peace on the application of
diplomatic pressure to Spain, which he sought to make possible by
the futile fabric of the Spanish marriage scheme. Thus, in the very
year in which the Bohemian war broke out, Raleigh's life was sacrificed
with an impotence to remain unforgotten either by the hero-victim's
Puritan partisans or by the English people at large.

What followed was a policy of which the whole nation shared the
humiliation, before James himself came to perceive its absolute failure.
The Palatinate had been lost * in ' and with Bohemia, and James, who
had permitted English volunteers to go out to save his grandchildren's
inheritance had allowed Spain to levy a couple of regiments here to help
in preventing its restoration.

There is no reason for concluding that Shakespeare stood in any
distinct personal relation to the conflicts of opinion which at the time
of his death seemed on the eve of coming to a head in England, and
were soon to burst forth in open warfare abroad. What we may assume

A. W. WARD 243

as certain is that he regarded them, so far as they came under his
cognizance, from a point of view to which it was impossible for him to
shut his eyes. This was, in a word, the point of view of an Englishman.
Perhaps no critic saw more clearly than Goethe that the essence of
Shakespeare's dramatic genius lies in his direct reproduction as a living
reality of the impressions derived by him from observation of the world
around him ; and it was Goethe who, in one of the later of his deliver
ances on the adored poet of his strenuous youth, spoke as follows of the
patriotic element never wanting in this process of recasting :

* Shakespeare's poetic creations are like a great fair, replete with
living figures ; and this abundance he owes to his native land. Every
where in him we find England, surrounded by the sea, enveloped in fog
and clouds, active in every region of the world. The poet lives in a notable
and important age, and reproduces for us, with much serenity of mood,
its culture, and indeed its mis-culture also ; he would not exercise so
great an effect upon us, had he not placed himself on the level of the
strenuous times in which he lived. No dramatist has ever shown a more
utter contempt for outward and visible costume ; he has a thorough
knowledge of the inner costume of men — as to which they all resemble
one another. It is said that he produced excellent likenesses of Romans ;
such is not my opinion. His personages are all Englishmen incarnate ;
but, to be sure, they are human beings, human beings from top to toe,
and as such not ill-fitted with a Roman toga. So long as this is under
stood, his anachronisms are highly praiseworthy, and the very fact that
he offends so often against the prescription of external costume is what
makes his works so full of life.'

The life of Shakespeare had run its course under the clamour of
great events without being brought into direct contact with any of them,
even after the fashion of that of Cervantes (who died in the same year,
though not on the same day, and who had borne a personal part in the
glory, cold to him, of Lepanto). The English actor, as a favoured
servant of King James I's court, can have been no stranger to the
very genuine enthusiasm with which both court and public — no longer
altogether synonyms — greeted the marriage of the Princess Elizabeth,
and what could have been more pleasing to the poet than that the
occasion should be graced by the revival of his last play ? For as such
The Tempest, which there is every reason to conclude to have been
reproduced (not first put on the stage) on this occasion, may assuredly
be regarded. Though full of allegory like no other of his plays, it was
not intended or desired by its author to offer on his part a solemn

244 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

farewell either to the stage or to the life of affairs at large ; yet it reveals
thoughts of such partings, which had passed through his mind as pro
phetic visitants. For the rest, there is no reason for supposing the
retired burgess of Stratford to have been moved by the dictates of politi
cal or of religious partisanship. Of the former he cannot, on reasonable
consideration of the outward conditions of his career, be suspected,
and, happily for the creations of his genius, he was lifted away from the
atmosphere of contending creeds by the intellectual freedom of vision
which the Renascence had brought as its noblest gift to himself and
his peers. Or are we to attach any significance to the fact that soon after
James Fs accession Shakespeare had been one of the members of his
company specially attached to the household service of the Archduke
Albert and his two Spanish companies at Somerset House ? Or, again,
is it worth noting that the Earl of Rutland, to whom Shakespeare quite
at the end of his life rendered a semi-professional service in devising
an impresa for him with Burbage for a royal tournament, was a strict
Catholic as well as a friend of Southampton, himself the descendant of
a Catholic father and grandfather ? In so far as the Puritans are to be
looked upon as in natural alliance with the war-party of James's later
years, Shakespeare's antipathies were against these friends of Raleigh
and foes of Spain ; but they were antipathies of humour mainly, of
which he made a secret, though it must be granted that both in
London and at Stratford he had cause for personal dislike. But his
reflections on the Puritans are far from proving in the case of Raleigh,
any more than in that of Essex, that he was anything but unfriendly to
the man to whom their support was more or less accorded. For the rest,
political freedom — a kind of freedom differing in conception from that
dear to the heart of either the Ariels or the Calibans of the social system
— and even from the freedom of thought claimed by Stephano — had not
yet presented itself to this period of the national life as the ideal which
it was to become to the next generation.

At the same time, any sober judgement will concede that, apart
from the influence of man upon man, of which we know nothing, the
views held by Shakespeare on national questions in his last years would
be of little consequence, direct or indirect, as contributing to swell
currents of public opinion, or, still less, to supply the motive force
by which such currents are started or sustained. He had ceased to
write for the stage, or even to take an active part in directing or con
trolling its appeals to further goodwill ; and though his plays more
than held their own on the stage or at court against those of his fellow

A. W. WARD

245

dramatists, there was no great demand for printed copies of them in
the author's lifetime, and at the time of his death they still awaited the
compliment of being published collectively, which was in this very year
paid to those of Ben Jonson. In a word, even if the long-lived popularity
of his first poem be taken into account, he was at this time, though
praised and quoted in the world of the court, among university wits,
and even in the pulpit, hardly more than a favourite in his own country,
while the knowledge of his plays which had extended beyond it was as
meagre as it was sporadic. * Our Shakespeare ' was a name to conjure
with among dilettanti, and in the world of his old profession ; but the
time, though fast approaching, had not quite come, when the whole
literary legacy, the bestowal of which caused him so little care, would
be claimed as a legacy by the nation, and put out to interest in its behalf.

Thus, if on passing to the first centenary of his death we observe
how greatly by that date * the case had altered ', the process had really
been natural and continuous. On the lapse of a century from the date
of his death, Shakespeare is found, instead of a favourite only in literary
circles and among playgoers, acknowledged as a national classic in his
own land, and no longer a stranger to men of letters outside it. In 1716,
Great Britain (as England and Scotland called themselves since their
formal union) could look back upon the victorious close of a struggle
of which the defence of the peace of Europe against systematic aggression
had been the final cause, and upon the conclusion of a peace which at
least had the merit of seeking to establish the political system of Europe
on an abiding basis. The dynastic settlement at home, which virtually
formed part of the general pacification, had not been undone by the
'15, and the nation and the empire could look forward to generations
of domestic prosperity and colonial expansion. It was as if the period
of which the ' last four years ' of Queen Anne formed part had been
called upon to take stock of the literary achievements of a community,
whose political and literary interests had never before entered into so
close a mutual intimacy, and as if the great writers whose names were
definitively inscribed on the roll of its classics, were, like those of its great
statesmen and classics, to acquire a freehold there for all future ages,
Shakespeare had now been recognized as a * great heir of fame ' by the
unprejudiced pronouncement of one who was * himself a Muse ', and
he stood established as an English classic, to be prized not only for his
incidental beauties, dropped as the careless ocean drops its pearls, or
stealing on the ear like * native wood-notes ', but for the power of his

R

246 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

poetic diction as a whole, which, as Gray wrote in one of his early letters,
makes * every word in him a picture '. Accordingly, the first duty of
those interested in vindicating to him his place among English classics
seemed to be to present it by textual revision and commentary as what
it actually is and signifies. While the literary leaders of the age — a Pope,
an Addison — held themselves called upon to bring their names into
closest association with his, the acknowledgement of his incontestable
superiority to all formed a kind of test of the truest distinction. The
uncertainty of the national self-estimate in matters literary which in the
latter part of the previous century had imposed the dictates of French
classical criticism, more especially upon our dramatists, and to which
Dryden himself had, with his eyes open, given way, was coming to an
end, both in the study and on the stage ; and the nation's estimate of the
greatest of its poets was being gradually freed from the bondage to which
it had been subjected in deference to alien precept. At the same time,
the welcome given to Shakespeare's plays on the stage, the surest
criterion of the public interest in his genius, rose steadily to unpre
cedented heights, till it reached its culminating point in the career of
Garrick. Whatever elements of excess may (after the manner of things
histrionic) have made themselves perceptible in the oddly named, oddly
dated, and oddly carried out * Shakespeare's Jubilee ' at Stratford in
1769, Garrick was entitled to pose as its tutelary spirit.

In 1816, the second centenary of Shakespeare's death found the
national recognition of his genius still in the ascendant. In the theatre,
where the Kemble constellation had long magnificently diffused its limpid
light, the fiery star of Edmund Kean was appearing on the horizon ;
and our libraries — in England and in America — were ranging on their
shelves the great variorum editions that were in their totality to form the
poet's chief literary movement. He was no longer an English classic
only ; the German theatrical knowledge of his plays, which had begun
after a fashion in his lifetime, had now become a literary knowledge
also, and had grown into a critical insight, since Lessing had claimed
for Shakespeare's genius the right of determining for itself the conditions
of its fidelity to the laws of the drama. The enthusiasm proclaimed
by a school of writers whose exuberant vitality was that of a new literary
generation and whose reader was the youthful Goethe, had, with the
aid of Schlegel's translation, become a popular devotion such as never
before or since has been paid by any nation to the greatest writer of
another. In the cosmopolitan eighteenth century, Shakespeare's great-

A. W. WARD 247

ness had not remained a secret to yet other countries ; but in France
the fight had not yet been fought out with the traditions tenaciously
defended by Voltaire.

Thus when in 1816, after another year of European struggle, this
time waged against revolutionary France and its heir Napoleon, the
British nation was in the most powerful position ever held by it in the
political world, and once more stood before Europe as the victorious
guardian of her peace, Shakespeare was already becoming a world-classic,
in a sense in which this can be predicted of very few luminaries in the
world's literary history. The century which had opened has witnessed
an increase of endeavour and achievement in every direction of Shake
speare study and Shakespeare criticism — not the least on the side
where in 1815 Wordsworth frankly acknowledged the superiority of the
Germans, although Coleridge, it must be remembered, indignantly
repudiated the supposition of a direct indebtedness to them. The age
of comparative study of literature was dawning ; nor was it without
significance that Guizot, the illustrious Frenchman who united to his
appreciation of English political history an insight into that of the
civilization of Europe, should have fathered the first adequate French
translation of Shakespeare. And, nearing completion at the present turn
of the century as reckoned by our dates, the great American variorum
(to mention one other Shakespearean task handed down from father
to son) brings home to us by the contents of this treasure-house of
learning one of the most characteristic features of the age in which we
move and live — cooperation, as applied to the work of the master.

The Tercentenary of Shakespeare's death, which, shorn of all
external grandeur by the visitation of the present war, we are now cele
brating, must fall short in this, as in the other, feature that it would
have most signally displayed. For the world-classic, whose literary
world-empire is no longer matter of dispute, the fullness of the homage
that has become his right is wanting in the tribute now being paid to his
greatness. As for the country of his birth and of his loyal affection, it
will be truest to him if it can remain true to itself. For to Shakespeare
no high and holy motive of action and service, least of all the love of
honour and the love of country, are separable from true manhood, or
from achievement — not the mere thought of it or wish for it — which is
manhood's surest test.

A. W. WARD.

R 2

248 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

THE TWO EMPIT(ES

IF e'er I doubt of England, I recall
Gentle Will Shakespeare, her authentic son,
Wombed in her soul and with her meadows one,

Whose tears and laughter hold the world in thrall,

Impartial bard of Briton, Roman, Gaul,
Jew, Gentile, white or black. Greek poets shun
Strange realms of song — his ventures overrun

The globe, his sovereign art embraces all.

Such too is England's Empire — hers the art
To hold all faiths and races 'neath her sway,

An art wherein love plays the better part.
Thus comes it, all beside her fight and pray,

While, like twin sons of that same mighty heart,
St. George and Shakespeare share one April day,

ISRAEL ZANGWILL,

H. B. WHEATLEY 249

LONDON'S HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEAT^E

WHAT is the vivid attraction that compels so many of us to love
our London with a great love ? By some the cause of this sentiment
is styled * the lure ', but this word is too near akin to ' guile ' to harmo
nize with our feelings, which ring true as steel.

London has been and is the greatest business city of the world,
and the history of commerce tells of her greatness. The river also,
from which she was born, bears upon its bosom the riches of the earth.

We are all proud to be * citizens of no mean city ', but there is
something more than this. The Thames is full of wonders to be seen
from the Tower to Westminster Abbey, so that its history is a fairy tale
of doings that are written in the history of England. The names of
Chaucer, Gower, Richard II, Elizabeth, Sidney, Raleigh, Shakespeare,
and many others are written on its waters. The true glory of London,
therefore, is to be found in her association with England's greatest men.
To those who love her and know her history the very stones cry out, and
the poorest streets, as well as the richer ones, remind them of the witchery
of these names. Above all stands out the name of Shakespeare, who
came to her in his youth. As a true son he loved his native town of
Stratford, but his character was formed in London by the great men
with whom he associated. London was his University, and teachers
at that University were the wonderful men that abounded in * the
spacious days ' of Eliza's reign.

He longed to return to his home, but he did not forget what he
owed to London, and London will never forget what she owes to him.
He breathed the universal air of human nature, but he pictured the
characters he saw in London. The Roman mob in Julius Caesar were
doubtless true to the men of the classic city, but they were drawn from
the men of London, and they were none the less true from being so
drawn. London is proud that she did her part in influencing that
master mind.

The outline of the Map of Elizabethan London placed upon one of

250 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

1916 looks only a small town, but to the Elizabethans, who were unable
to conceive of any city growing to the size of modern London, it was
a big place. Though Shakespeare's London was small, it was of as much
importance relatively to other cities and towns as the present London is.
The town still grows and will continue to grow, but the heart of the
city is the same as ever and the spirit of Shakespeare pervades that
heart. The old city has been altered almost out of knowledge, but the
relics of his residence can still be traced.

Some may think that there is little to remind us of Shakespeare
in our modern London, but is this really so ? The confident answer
is ' No ! certainly not ! '

Let us try to call to mind some of the places associated with him.
The actual buildings of Gray's Inn Hall and Middle Temple Hall still
exist, where two of the plays were acted : The Comedy of Errors in 1594
at the former, and Twelfth Night in 1602 at the latter. The two Halls
at these dates were comparatively new.

* The Great Chamber ' at Whitehall, in which so many of Shake
speare's plays were acted before the court, has passed away, but Mr.
Ernest Law has shown us where it stood, and that beneath it were the
remains of Cardinal Wolsey's cellar at York Place which still exists in
the basement of the Board of Trade buildings. There is every reason
to hope that this relic of the past, brimful of interesting associations,
will be preserved in the new house that is projected for this Government
Office.

Shakespeare's earliest residence in London known to us was in
the parish of St. Helen's, Bishopsgate, and the fine church of St. Helen's
still remains a beautiful survival. Bankside, where he lived for many
years in the neighbourhood of the Globe Theatre, is much altered, but
we cannot walk by the side of the Thames without picturing it as it was
when Shakespeare's influence there was great.

Those places associated with Shakespeare which have been swept
away have left something which reminds the student of him. In the
windings of Blackfriars his shadow is to be seen. The roses of York
and Lancaster are still occasionally exhibited in the Temple Gardens,
although they do not flourish there now ; but there is little in Ely Place
and Hatton Garden to remind us of strawberries, although we have
Richard Ill's authority for believing that they grew there once. In
Cripplegate we can look for the dwelling of Christopher Mountjoy, the
Huguenot tire-man, where Shakespeare resided for a term. Farther on
we can visit Shoreditch and see where the first theatre was built within

H. B. WHEATLEY

251

the precincts of the dissolved Priory of Haliwell, with the site of the
Curtain Theatre near by, although outside the precincts.

When Bolingbroke (then king) lamented the dissolute conduct of
his son, he called upon his courtiers to * Inquire at London 'mongst the
taverns there '. We may obey the charge and search for the old * Boar's
Head ' at Eastcheap (now King William Street). We shall not find it,
but we know that it stood where the statue of William IV now stands.

With greater eagerness we turn into Cheapside and seek for the site,
in Bread Street and Friday Street, of the ever memorable ' Mermaid '
tavern where the * Spanish great galleon ' Jonson met the English * man
of war ' Shakespeare in wit combats. This must be the most sacred of
spots in our memory. The very thought of these meetings of the
choicest spirits of the age fills one's soul with fire.

Our huge London has outlived many memories, but the memory
of our master-poet is not one of these. It enlivens us as we visit in
imagination the remains of old London, and the glory of his fame pervades
the larger area of to-day.

London of the twentieth century forgets not the long list of her
noble sons and daughters in former centuries, and will ever remember
what they have done for her. She lives in the past as well as in the
present, and her gratitude is worthy and complete. More and more
she realizes her indebtedness to these worthies, and in this year of
special commemoration she renders her devoted homage to the greatest
genius of them all : William Shakespeare.

H. B. WHEATLEY.

252

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

MEETING-TLACE FOR SHAKESPEA^ <AND
DT(AYTON IN THE CITT OF LONDON

' THE Mermaid in Chepe * has gained immortal fame in Beaumont's
famous lines ; but there was another tavern of that name, * The Mermaid,'
Aldersgate, hitherto unnoticed, which Shakespearians will, I feel sure,
henceforward associate with the poet and with his fellow and friend Michael
Drayton. This old tavern abutted on the City Wall and was an integral
part of the ancient City Gate itself. It is my belief that in unbroken
sequence it is perhaps the oldest inn in Europe. There is proof that it is
the oldest in the City of London. There, at the most northerly gate of
the City, it stood already in early Plantagenet times. It changed its
name and became * The Mermaid ' in 1530. In 1651 it was called
* The Fountain ' ; after the crushing defeat of Preston Pans a Royalist
owner dubbed it * The Mourning Bush '. And so it remained until
1874, when for some reason it suddenly became * The Lord Raglan '.
So it is called to-day. But the glorious cellars that still remain are as
Shakespeare knew them. The tavern stands at the blunted angle of
Aldersgate and Gresham Street, and it harbours some thirty feet or more
of the original London Wall.

When William Shakespeare came to London the landlord of * The
Mermaid ' was a man who would have meant much to any literary
aspirant of that day.

His name was William Goody eare, author of * The Voyage of the
Wandering Knight, Showing the Whole Course of Man's Life, How apt
he is to follow Vanity, and how hard it is for him to attain unto Virtue*

But more important than this was his kinship with the great
Warwickshire family, the Gooderes, ever nobly associated with the
life-history of Shakespeare's famous contemporary Michael Drayton.
Sir Henry Goodyear or Goodere, of Polesworth, had adopted Drayton
when he was a small child,

... a proper goodly page,
Much like a pigmy, scarce ten years of age.

MABEL E. WOTTON 253

Drayton 's love for Anne, afterwards Lady Rainsford, is enshrined in his
sonnet-sequence entitled * Idea '.

j It may be accepted that when in London Drayton often visited
Anne's kinsman ; and Shakespeare must often have spent a convivial
evening with him at this * Mermaid '. Surely in 1604, when the great
dramatist was lodging with Christopher Mountjoy in Silver Street, he
must have visited the famous cellars which, even in his day, were an
old-world haunt.

We know that in 1603 Michael Drayton from this tavern witnessed
the entrance of the King into the capital of his new kingdom. This
we know from his ill-fated Gratulatory Poems and Paean Triumphal.

This old-world haunt should be brought to notice, I think, on this
occasion. It has hitherto been forgotten.

MABEL E. WOTTON.

254 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

OXFOT^D <AND SHAK£SPEAT(E

SHAKESPEARE on his journeys between London and Stratford, and
on his theatrical tours, must have got to know Oxford well. But his
associations were with the City, not the University. Some of the
warmest tributes during his lifetime to his * quality * are from the pen
of John Davies, who had settled in Oxford as a calligrapher. And the
familiar early tradition makes him an intimate of the family of John
Davenant, landlord of the Crown Inn, who was mayor of the city in
1621. Probably one of Davenant 's predecessors was present at the
Oxford performance of Hamlet, for the Corporation was then enter
taining touring companies, while the University was paying them to
leave its precincts. The academic authorities had their own plays and
amateur stage, and were anxious to keep professional histriones at a
distance. The company to which Shakespeare belonged was one of
those which was thus bribed to take itself off.

Hence Shakespeare had little reason to love the University, and we
must not expect from him the glowing words that Greene puts into the
mouth of the Emperor of Germany (of all people !) in Friar Bacon and
Friar Bungay :

These Oxford schooles
Are richly seated neere the riuer side

The toune gorgeous with high built colledges,
And schollers seemely in their graue attire,
Learned in searching principles of art.

Though Henry VIII contains a noble tribute to Wolsey's great Oxford
foundation,

unfinish'd, yet so famous,
So excellent in art and still so rising,
That Christendom shall ever speak his virtues —

the lines are probably from the pen of Fletcher.

FREDERICK S. BOAS 255

The only direct reference by the dramatist to academic Oxford is
in the conversation between the Gloucestershire Justices in 2 Henry IV :

Shallow. I dare say my cousin William is become a good scholar. He is at Oxford
still, is he not?

Silence. Indeed, sir, to my cost.

It would seem that Shakespeare had heard more of the expense
than of the benefits of a University education. Yet he was naturaliter
Oxoniensis — a lover of classical philosophy, history, and poetry, though
he had to read his Plato, his Plutarch, and much of his Ovid (even if the
Bodleian 1502 copy of the Metamorphoses was once his) at second or
third hand. Like Holinshed, from whom he learnt the annals of his own
country, his interest was in Kings, not in Parliaments, and, had he lived,
he would doubtless have taken the side of Oxford in the Civil War.
The creator of Hamlet and Brutus knew the strength and the weakness
of the academic attitude to life. Prospero, to whom his study was
more than his dukedom, is the type of all who have deemed the
world well lost for the life of contemplation. And Orlando, Bassanio,
and their fellows, are they not akin to those who drink deep, age after
age, of ' the joys of Oxford living ' ; and who, though they be

Young men whom Aristotle thought
Unfit to learn moral philosophy,

learn by the banks of the Isis something of the true issues and perspec
tive of life ? It is a strange irony that they should have ever been for
bidden to attend plays that hold up the mirror to their own best selves.

But in spite of pains and penalties, undergraduates, and even their
seniors, doubtless sometimes stole forth to see performances by travelling
companies, or smuggled the quarto play-books from the London presses
into college rooms and cloisters. The witty St. John's author of Nar
cissus (1602-3) was familiar with / Henry IV and A Midsummer Night's
Dream. Nicholas Richardson of Magdalen even quoted twice, in 1620
and 1621, from St. Mary's pulpit the passage in Romeo and Juliet
beginning :

"Tis almost morning, I would have thee gone;
And yet no further than a wanton's bird :

* applying it to God's love to his saints either hurt with sin or adversity,
never forsaking them.'

The Balcony scene, in which these lines come, was (as Bodley 's Libra
rian has told us) the favourite episode in Shakespeare's plays with young
Oxford readers in the time of Charles I. For when a copy of the First

256 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

Folio reached the Bodleian in 1623, was bound by William Wildgoose and
chained in the * Arts End ' of the library, the page that faced this scene
became more worn by use than any other. Next to Romeo and Juliet
the most popular plays with Bodleian readers seem to have been Julius
Caesar, Macbeth, and / Henry IV. Yet it was against the Founder 's
wishes that the library contained the First Folio at all. Sir Thomas Bodley
held the orthodox academic opinion of his day, shared even by some
of the best neo-Latin dramatists, that * English plaies * were * baggage '
books, not worthy of a place on library shelves. Fortunately, however,
under his agreement with the Stationers' Company in 1610-11, a copy
of the priceless volume was sent to the Bodleian, where it remained till
the Third Folio, with seven additional plays, appeared in 1664. Then
the First Folio became a * superfluous book', and Oxford saw it no more
for two centuries and a half. Its chance return, its * recognition ' on the
approved principles of Attic drama, and its re-purchase at a great price,
form a romance too fresh in memory to need telling here.

It is astonishing that while it lay open to Bodleian readers, though
some, like Burton, quoted from it, only one seems to have paid a tribute
to Shakespeare in an Oxford publication. In 1640 a tragedy by Samuel
Hartlib, B.A., of Exeter College, was issued, with the customary verse
prefaces by admiring friends. Among them was Nicholas Downey of
the same college, who declared that * sad Melpomene '

Casts off the heavy buskins, which she wore,
Quickens her leaden pace, and runnes before,
Hyes to pale Shakespeare's urne and from his tombe
Takes up the bayes, and hither is she come.

Whatever may be thought of Downey's critical perception in looking
upon Sicily and Naples as the lineal successor to Hamlet or Macbeth,
he at any rate recognized that Shakespeare was the great exemplar of
tragic art.

About forty years later John Aubrey, the Oxford antiquary, in the
MS. notes which form the first * brief life ' of the dramatist, emphasized
his comic genius : * His Comedies will remaine witt as long as the
English tongue is understood, for that he handles mores hominium*
And in a miscellany * by Oxford Hands ' (1685) he was promised,
with a touch of patronage, eternal fame with * matchless Jonson '
and * lofty Lee ' :

Shake'spear, though rude, yet his immortal wit
Shall never to the stroke of time submit.

FREDERICK S. BOAS 257

In the same year the Fourth Folio was published, and on it (with three
additions) Gerard Langbaine based his list of the dramatist's plays in
his Account of the English Dramatick Poets, published at Oxford in 1691.
Though his detailed criticisms are unilluminating, his general tribute
to Shakespeare's genius is more unqualified than any that had yet come
from an Oxford pen. He does not hesitate to place him on a higher
level than even Jonson or Fletcher, and boldly avows that he esteems
his plays * beyond any that have ever been published in our Language '.

In the same year Langbaine became Architypographus of the
University Press, but he died in 1692, and the world had to wait till
1744 for the first Oxford edition of Shakespeare's plays. As the Vice-
Chancellor, Walter Hodges, wrote his imprimatur on its title-page on
March 26, the shades of his Elizabethan predecessors might well have
looked over his shoulder in agonized reproof. For the University was
issuing the * baggage books ' in six sumptuous volumes, finely printed,
adorned with engravings, and edited (though anonymously) by no less a
person than a former Speaker of the House of Commons, Sir Thomas
Hanmer. As * one of the great Admirers of this incomparable Author '
he professed to offer ' a true and correct edition of Shakespeare's works
cleared from the corruptions with which they have hitherto abounded '.
The claim cannot be sustained, for he mainly followed Pope and
Theobald, and his emendations were merely the result of his own in
genuity. But in spite of its critical deficiencies Hanmer 's edition was, in
his own phrase, the first ' monument ' raised to Shakespeare in Oxford.

It won an enthusiastic welcome from William Collins, then a demy
of Magdalen, who declared that the editor had done for Shakespeare
what * some former Hanmer ' had done for the scattered Homeric lays.
Collins 's Epistle, wherein Shakespeare is hailed as * the perfect boast of
time' uniting * Tuscan fancy' and * Athenian strength', was naturally
included in the second edition of Hanmer 's work, issued in 1770-1.

It is curious that for almost a century from this date, except for
a six-volume edition by Joseph Rann, a Coventry Vicar, in 1786, no
work bearing on Shakespeare came from the University Press. Neither
the general revival of interest in the Elizabethans due to Coleridge,
Lamb, and Hazlitt, nor the presentation to the Bodleian in 1821 of
Malone's magnificent collection of Shakespeariana, including the four
Folios, seems to have stimulated Shakespearian research at Oxford.

But Keble's Latin Praelectiones, when he was Professor of Poetry
(1832-41), contain so many incidental references to the plays, especially
Hamlet, and comparisons between Greek and Elizabethan dramatic

258

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

methods that we regret there is no lecture on * Shaksperus noster ',
* Tragcedorwn tile princeps ' by the author of The Christian Year. Nor
did the greatest of Keble's successors, Matthew Arnold (1857-67),
discourse on Shakespeare except incidentally in illustration of * the grand
style '. It was not till our own day that * Shakespearian Tragedy ' was
illuminated from the Chair of Poetry, and that Shakespeare as a ' Man
of Letters ' was interpreted by the first Oxford Professor of English
Literature.

When the University Press at last broke silence it spoke with a
voice other than its own. W. G. Clark and Aldis Wright, who had
recently completed the ' Cambridge Shakespeare ', brought out in 1868
the first Clarendon Press edition of a single Shakespearian play. It was
The Merchant of Venice, followed by fifteen others, of which the twelve
after 1874 were edited by Wright alone. Their exact and fastidious
scholarship has given them classic rank, but was * caviare ' to the
schoolboys and schoolgirls into whose hands they have largely come.
They began that intimate connexion between the University Press and
Shakespearian study which has been so marked a feature of recent
years. It is to this that we owe an ' Oxford Shakespeare ' in one volume ;
facsimiles of the First Folio and the Poems ; editions of the Shakespeare
Apocrypha and of the works of many of the dramatist's contem
poraries ; a Shakespeare Glossary founded on the great Dictionary ;
and a monograph on Shakespearian punctuation.

But a playwright can only come fully into his own on the stage.
The tradition of hostility to the theatre, inherited from Tudor times,
lingered in the University long after the colleges had ceased to act plays.
The City, on its part, discontinued its support of touring companies.
Hence the theatre in Oxford from the eighteenth to the later nineteenth
century fell upon evil days. Where Hamlet had once been acted, play
goers were offered the ribaldry of a low-class music-hall. But the
dramatic revival in the later Victorian period did not leave Oxford
untouched. The performance of the Agamemnon in Greek at Balliol in
1880 encouraged those who were struggling to give English drama a
worthier place in academic life. They gained their end when Jowett, as
Vice- Chancellor, authorized public performances by undergraduates of
Greek or Shakespearian plays. In December, 1883, The Merchant of
Venice was produced, and the event had greater significance in Oxford
annals than probably any of those present (including the writer of this
article) fully realized. For the first time a play of Shakespeare was
acted by members of the University in the Town Hall, and the

FREDERICK S. BOAS

259

performance thus symbolized the close of the historic feud between the
academic and civic authorities concerning stage-plays. But the drama
in Oxford needed a home of its own, and on February 13, 1886, the
New Theatre was opened with a production of Twelfth Night, the first
of a long series of Shakespearian revivals.

If therefore the dramatist, like the Ghost of Hamlet the elder
(a part probably played by him at Oxford), were to revisit the glimpses
of the moon in this Tercentenary year, he would find himself strangely
welcome in the groves of Academe. With memories of the past thick
upon him he would steal into the city, half fearful lest some new Mar-
cellus might strike at him with his partisan. But where he had once,
as a travelling player, to endure ' the insolence of office ', he would be
greeted with reverent homage, and would be made free of the sanctuary
of learning whose guardians had of old driven him and his professional
comrades from her gates.

FREDERICK S. BOAS.

260 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

SHAKESPEA<f(E .AND CAMBT^DGE

AT some date in or before 1603 the Tragicall Historic of Hamlet
Prince of Denmarke, as the title-page of the First Quarto edition declares,
was acted by his Highnesse servants in the City of London and in the
Universities of Cambridge and Oxford. The reference may be to the
two University towns, but it was a practice by no means uncommon
for academic authorities to engage professional actors to exhibit their
quality in College Halls, and as Shakespeare was one of the players of
the company in question, and is reputed to have taken the Ghost's part
in Hamlet, it is quite possible that he visited either University in a
professional capacity. Slight enough, no doubt, was the knowledge of
University life which he acquired under such conditions. Apart from
the Fletcherian reference to Oxford and Ipswich in Henry VIII, he
alludes to Oxford University but once, never to Cambridge.

And yet in the decade 1590 to 1600 there is ample evidence that
Shakespeare was profoundly interested in academic life, and even had
a rather particular acquaintance with the usages and parlance of English
Universities. His plays of that time are full of University matters.
The scene is laid in France or Germany or Italy — at Rheims or Witten
berg or Padua — or he conjures up a fanciful * academe ' in Navarre.
But the scene little matters. Universities all over Europe were so much
alike in 1600 that any of them might stand for Cambridge or Oxford,
and I think that Master William Silence, who cost his father so much
money at Oxford, was in very fact a * school-fellow ' of Lucentio, whose
father had cause to complain that he and his sizar, Tranio, were spending
all at the University of Padua.

Shakespeare's University plays are all of his earlier dramatic time.
First is Love's Labour ys Lost (1591) with its ' little Academe ' of Navarre,
whose fantastic statutes, three years' residence and compulsory sub
scription are so delightfully travestied from the conditions of Eliza
bethan Universities. Next in the Tzvo Gentlemen of Verona, Antonio
debates, as the fathers of Sidney and Essex might have done, whether
to send his son to a studious University or to the court. In the Taming

ARTHUR GRAY 261

of the Shrew there is Lucentio, who comes to Padua, vowed to apply
himself to Aristotle's checks, and ends by professing the Art to Love.
The * premeditated welcomes of great clerks ' which are offered to
Theseus in the Midsummer Night's Dream have reference to such per
formances as * entertained ' Elizabeth at Cambridge in 1564. The same
matter crops up in Hamlet, where Polonius tells of the * brute part ' which
he enacted in a University play ; and Hamlet himself is a truant from
Wittenberg * school '. After Nestor's reference to * degrees in schools ' in
Troilus and Cressida Shakespeare has no more to say about Universities.

Oxford City must have been familiar to Shakespeare in his frequent
journeys between Stratford and London, but it is an odd fact that the
University usages and phrases which he was acquainted with are those of
Cambridge rather than Oxford. The reason is obvious. The Parnassus
plays — so full of references to Shakespeare — tell us of the lure of the
stage for Cambridge graduates who had no prospect of preferment in
the University or the learned professions. Among such graduates who
drifted from Cambridge to the London tiring-house and there made
Shakespeare's acquaintance were Robert Greene, who left the University
in 1583, M.A. of Clare, but originally of St. John's; Thomas Nash —
Ingenioso of the Parnassus plays — also a Johnian, B.A. in 1586, who
' after seven yere together, lacking a quarter ' quitted Cambridge with
out taking his Master's degree ; and Kit Marlowe, of Corpus, who
graduated M.A. in 1587 ; to say nothing of John Day, of Caius, and
other Cambridge dramatists. After 1601 the three former men had
fretted their hour and were seen no more. Pickled herrings and Rhenish
wine ended Greene in 1592 ; Francis Archer's dagger did for Marlowe
in 1593 ; and Nash, after sojourn in the Fleet prison, died in 1601.

So with Hamlet ends, not begins, University talk in Shakespeare.
But in and about 1590, when he was perhaps collaborating with Marlowe
in Titus Andronicus and The Third Part of Henry VI ", when Marlowe
and Greene were busy with their plays connected with University fiction,
Faustus and Friar Bacon , when Nash in his preface to Greene's Mena-
phon was addressing * the Gentlemen Students of both Universities ',
we may be sure that in the tiring-room or the tavern Shakespeare heard
much Cambridge talk, and hearing laid to heart, Something he may
have gathered from his patron, Southampton, M.A. of St. John's in
1589, and something from the players and minor playwrights among
whom were Cambridge men : the names of William Kempe, Robert
Gough,and Richard Robinson, all of them in the First Folio list of players,
occur also in the catalogue of Cambridge graduates of 1584 to 1592.

262 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

Of specially Cambridge phrase there is little or nothing in Faustus
or Friar Bacon. It is the more remarkable that it repeatedly crops out
in Shakespeare's plays. To Cambridge ears there is a familiar ring in
the line of Titus Andronicus :

Knock at his study, where, they say, he keeps.

4 Keep ' in the sense * dwell ' is, of course, common enough in Eliza
bethan English. But in its association with * study ' I think that it had
its suggestion in Cambridge parlance. * Study ' was the regular Cam
bridge name for the closet-space allotted to the individual student in
the common room.

From the earliest days to times comparatively recent a candidate
for a degree at Cambridge was required to maintain a syllogistical
dispute in the schools, which disputation was called * the Act '. If he
was successful and admitted to the full privileges of a graduate he was
said * to commence ' in Arts or a Faculty, and the ceremony at which
he was so admitted was, and is, called at Cambridge * the Commence
ment '. If the candidate went on to a higher degree he was said * to
proceed '. Remark how Shakespeare brings these three terms together
in Timon's speech to Apemantus (Timon of Athens , Act iv, sc. iii) :

Hadst thou, like us from our first swath proceeded
The sweet degrees that this brief world affords . . .
Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time
Hath made thee hard in't.

* Commence ' and c act ' seem to have an inevitable attraction for one
another, the one word suggesting the other, not always consciously.
Thus in Falstaffs praise of sack :

Learning is a mere hoard of gold till sack commences it and sets it in act and use :

and in the Induction of The Second Part of Henry IV Rumour says :

I ... still unfold
The acts commenced on this ball of earth :

and again in The Second Part of Henry VI,

As Ascanius did,

When he to madding Dido would unfold
His father's acts commenced in burning Troy.

But the clearest evidence that it was from Cambridge, not from Oxford,
that Shakespeare learnt University phrase is in Lear's complaint to
Regan of his usage by Goneril :

'Tis not in thee ... to scant my sizes.

ARTHUR GRAY 263

' Size ' is the Cambridge word for a certain quantity of food or drink
privately ordered from the buttery, and traces its origin to the old assize
of bread and ale. The word and its derivatives * sizar ', ' a sizing ', and
the verb * to size ' are quite peculiar to Cambridge and its daughter
Universities of Dublin, Harvard, and Yale. Minsheu (1617), quoted
in the New English Dictionary, says : * A size is a portion of bread and
drink : it is a farthing which schollers in Cambridge have at the buttery :
it is noted with the letter S, as in Oxford with the letter Q for halfe a
farthing.' The * abatement ' of sizes was a College punishment, alterna
tive to * gating ', to which there seems to be allusion in Lear's next words
' to oppose the bolt against my coming in \

ARTHUR GRAY.
CAMBRIDGE.

S 2

264 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

SHAKESPEA1(E <AND

What, Hal ! How now, mad wag ! what a devil dost thou in Warwickshire ? —

/ Hen. IV* IV. ii.

MEMORY holds a store of sharp-edged pleasures for the country-
born. Those who have picked oxslips from the bank and * violets dim *
in childhood ask no more of Paradise. Shakespeare knew the farmer's
and shepherd's world hard by * Cotsall ', where * every 'leven wether
tods ', l and sacks are lost at * Hinckley fair '. Only book-learned town-
dwellers, ignorant of all the peasant's heritage of ancient lore, could
conceive of a better upbringing for a poet and playwright than this.2
Artistically Shakespeare was of the people. That is why he refused
to be entirely swept away, like lesser men, by the incoming tide of the
learning of ' ancient Greece ' and * haughty Rome '.

Moreover he was born in happy hour, when the country-side was
not dead to the arts as it is now. The impulse the * old ' Church had
given to music and to drama was not wholly spent, and folk-festivals,
ancient with the immemorial age of heathen magic, gave occasion for
traditional dance and play and song. It is true that Shakespeare's
lifetime saw the professionalizing of the stage and the passing of folk-
play and church-play, but in his boyhood acting was still a people's art.
Captain Cox led out the * good-hearted men ' of Coventry in the folk-
play of Hox-Tuesday before Elizabeth at Kenilworth, Herod of Jewry
put in his great voice all the megalomania of tyrants from the founda
tion of the world, and the village youth at Pentecost still played their
4 pageants of delight '. Not that even these players could escape the
all-pervading atmosphere of classic story. Robin Hood and his tradi
tional merry company of the greenwood might figure in the Whitsun
pastorals, but the most moving scene was that

Of Ariadne passioning
For Theseus' perjury and unjust flight.

1 Winter's Tale, IV. ii.

2 Mr. Greenwood, in Is there a Shakespeare Problem .^ argues that Stratford furnished
no ' culture ' for a * rustic '.

M. DORMER HARRIS 265

The truth is that all Warwickshire that touch the great roads,
that cross the county from side to side, was accessible to the ideas of
the larger world. Shakespeare was no dweller in dreary uplands where
no travellers pass ; like his own Orlando he was * inland bred '. Along
midland highways came the throng of puppet-show and ape-bearers,
tumblers, bearwards, and musicians,1 and also the intellectual aristocracy
of the highway, the Queen 's servants or my lord of Leicester's players,
who for two hours' space could fill the guildhall or the inn-yard with
Greece and Italy, kings and clowns, and all the wide compass of the
earth and heaven.

Was it after a scene like this that the restlessness of youth and the
pull of London took him from his own people ? Yet he came back.
So Warwickshire, which gave him ' birth ' and taught him all the life
and tradition of the country-side, so that in his country scenes there
seems gathered up all the age and sweetness of England, gave him
* sepulture ' also at the last.

1 The Coventry Chamberlains' accounts from 1574 contain scores of entries of
payments to travelling1 entertainers. One entry has ' To hym that hath the poppitts
& Camell xs.' See for the folk- festivals Chambers's Mediaeval Stage.

M. DORMER HARRIS.

266

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

SHAKgSPEA'Kg

SCOTLAND

Gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men.

Macbeth ;, IV. Hi. 189-90.

ON these cold hills had wak'd no flower of song
In darkened l Celtic or clear English tongue,3
When in imprisoned loneliness a king,
Turning an illumin'd page, heard Chaucer sing
Of Arcite, Palamon, and Emilye,
Of Biela-co-il, Daunger and Curteisye,
Of Fortune's cruel wheel, of Love more stern :
' The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne,
The assay so hard, so sharp the conquering —
Al this mene I by love, that my felyng
Astonieth with his wonderful working,
So sore y-wis that when I on him think
Not wot I wel wher that I flete or sink/
Back to the North that exiled monarch brought
Love, and the love of song, the subtle thought,
Well-ordered words and interwoven rhyme,
Colours of * rhetorike ', syllables that keep time
In cadenced music to a beating heart,
And in the ' King's Quhair ' flowered a nation's art.
Chaucer sang clear in Scottish tune and phrase,
Or told again on loud, chill northern days 3

1 Regarded from the point of view of English-speaking peoples, who have seldom
mastered the tongue of their Celtic neighbours.

2 No really artistic poetry. In verse the writer has taken the liberty to touch only
salient features, omitting much that would be requisite to a sober history.

The Northin wind had purifyit the Air,
And sched the mistie cloudis fra the skte;
The froist fresit, the blastis bitterly
Fra Pole Artick come quhisling loud and schill.

Henryson : The Testament of Cresseid.

H. J. C. GRIERSON 267

Of ' glorious Troylus ' and fair Cresseid,
Fickle and false, how she a leper died.
In Dunbar's * aureate terms ' and riotous rhymes
A dying splendour lit brave James's times,
Last King who in the old way to Lady kneel'd ,
And died, as Roland died, on Flodden field.

From Scotland ebbed the tide of song, the day

Which broke with James with James faded away.

But in the town where Chaucer by the Thames

Kept his ' red-lined accounts ', or saw at games,

Upon her meadows green with daisies pied,

The King of Love, Alcestis by his side,

And by that stream, now other poets sung

To Chaucer's lyre retuned, with golden tongue,

Of stately swans, and maidens gathering posies

Of virgin lilies and of vermeil roses

* Against the brydale day which was not long ;

Sweet Themnes ! runne softly, till I end my song ; *

Sang of Love's lordship, and how Astrophell

In Stella's kiss drank from the Muses' well.1

A Scottish poet conned that well-woven strain

And, but in alien speech, he too was fain

To sing of love by Death2 annulled, and love

Which flows from earth back to its source above.3

Of Sidney's, Spenser's pipe an echo rung

Through Hawthornden when William Drummond sung.

1 I never drank of Aganippe's well . . .

How then? sure this it is
My lips are sweet, inspired with Stella's kiss.

Sidney, Astrophel and Stella, Ixxiv.

2 Drummond's Sonnets, &c., on Miss Cunningham, written before and after her death.

3 Leave me, O, Love! which reachest but to dust;

Then, farewell, World ! Thy uttermost I see !
Eternal Love! maintain thy life in me!

Sidney, Astrophel and Stella, ex.

Compare Drummond's Mania, or Sp^r^t^tal Poems.

268 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

Then Shakespeare came, and the soft, pastoral stream
Of English song, sweet as midsummer dream,
Floated far out and widened to a sea
Life-giving, life-reflecting ; fresh and free ;
Stinging and salt and bitter ; now a-dance
In sun-steeped bays of comedy and romance ;
Anon 'neath skies whose hurrying cloud-rack hides
The consoling sun, in chafe of clashing tides,
And thunder of the storms that vex and mar
Rolling its surf-lit waves toward Fate's fixed star.
And all those waves were lives of passionate men :
The unpitying, unpitied soul of Richard ; then
Hamlet's sore spirit that suffered scarce knowing why ;
Love's perfect martyr, the * free and open ' Moor ;
lago damn'd and Desdemona pure ;
Proud Coriolanus ; and mighty Antony
Dying in a kiss on Cleopatra's knee ;
The supreme agony of outraged Lear ;
And with these, shaken by remorse and fear,
The spectre-haunted Scottish thane, and she
Through whose strong soul in dreams alone we see.

So Scotland woke to fame in Shakespeare's page,

Land of the * blasted heath ' where tempests rage

And witches roam, of ancient castles too

Where swallows build, which gentle breezes woo.

And when in Scotland poetry woke again,

From Shakespeare came the new heart-searching strain.

His ' wood-notes wild ' their sweetest echo found

In the Lark's song that soared from Scottish ground.

From Shakespeare Scott the inspiration drew

Peopled his page with such a motley crew.

It was not given him to evoke again

The moving vision of great souls in pain,

H. J. C. GRIERSON 269

But o'er his humbler characters and scenes,

An Edie Ochiltree or Jeannie Deans,

A summer breeze from Shakespeare's Arden sings,

An echo of his genial laughter rings.

Since Shakespeare who our * language had at large '

His anger or his mockery to discharge

In torrent of words, in flaming figure and phrase,

The high light and deep shadow of stormy days,

As he the Rembrandt of our English prose,

In whose rich page the life of history glows,

On Mirabeau and ' sea-green Robespierre ',

Louis, his hapless Queen, Frederick and Oliver,

As in the round Globe theatre it shone

On Richard, Henry, Faulconbridge and John ?

So by this shrine the Scottish Muse may stand
Holding her statelier sister by the hand.
Bone of his bone, clay of his sacred clay
Are we who face the welt 'ring storm to-day,
One ' happy breed of men ', one * little world '
On whom the hissing waves of hate are hurl'd,
The envy and hatred of * less happier ' men ;
Yet see o'er English meadow and Scottish glen,
On fields of France, and in far scatter 'd lands,
Western sierras, Australasian strands,
Mesopotamian marsh and African sands,
Through April glow of pride and shadow of pain
The sun of Shakespeare's England rise again.

H. J. C. GRIERSON.

.
270 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

<AND

SOME years ago, when I was turning over the pages of Stanyhurst's
Description of Ireland, the feeling was borne in on me that Shakespeare
had been there before. At a time when the thoughts of the civilized
world turn to Shakespeare with feelings of reverence and gratitude,
it may be worth while to recall what was then noted, for it may tell us
how Shakespeare came to think of Ireland ; and a knowledge of the
source from which Shakespeare derived such knowledge of Ireland as
he possessed may aid us in understanding what he has written.

The Description of Ireland forms part of Holinshed's Chronicles,
the storehouse which had furnished Shakespeare with plots for his
Histories. From the Scottish part of the Chronicles he took the story
of Macbeth. And in the well-worn Holinshed which he brought with
him to New Place, he found the story of a British king which was the
foundation of Cymbeline. In the Irish portion of the Chronicles he
failed to discover material which might be usefully worked into History
or Tragedy. But if he found no plot, he found what was to his purpose
when he would introduce into one of his Histories, a typical Irishman,
Welshman, and Scotchman.

The stage Irishman of Ben Jonson and of Dekker was a comic
footman. When Shakespeare presented an Irishman on the stage, he
was a soldier and a gentleman. Captain Macmorris was * an Irishman,
a very valiant gentleman, i' faith ' (Henry V, ill. ii. 71).

It has been often noted that the character of Shakespeare's Welsh
man has been drawn with greater care than his Irishman or his Scot.
' Fluellen, the Welshman with his comic phlegm and manly severity,
is the most elaborate of these figures.' 1 Fluellen was drawn from the
life. Captain Macmorris may be described as a lay figure, clad in certain
habiliments indicative of his nationality. Captain Macmorris — whose
name, a form of Macmorrough, was probably a reminiscence of the
story of MacMorrough and O'Rorke's wife, as told by Holinshed —
appears in one scene only, in which his national characteristics are

1 Dr. Brandes, William Shakespeare : a Critical Sfndy.

D. H. MADDEN 271

huddled one upon another * with impossible conveyance '. All of these
characteristics will be found in Stany hurst's Description : ' Tish ill
done/ cries Macmorris ; * the work ish give over, the trumpet sound
the retreat. By my hand, I swear, and my father's soul, the work ish
ill done ; it ish give over ; I would have bio wed up the town, so Chrish
save me, la ! in an hour. . . . The town is beseeched, and the trumpet
calls us to the breach ; and we talk, and be Chrish, do nothing : 'tis
shame for us all ; so God sa' me, 'tis shame to stand still ; it is shame,
be my hand ; and there is throats to be cut.'

Such is Shakespeare's Macmorris, Miles Gloriosus. Stanyhurst's Irish
man is * an excellent horseman, delighted with wars ', and * verie glorious '.

Captain Macmorris falls into a rage at a remark of Fluellen, which
if he had been allowed to finish it, would probably have proved in
offensive enough.

Fluellen. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your correction; there is
not many of your nation —

Macmorris. Of my nation ! What ish my nation ? Ish a villain and a bastard, and a
knave, and a rascal — what ish my nation ? Who talks of my nation ?

' The Irishman ', says Stany hurst, * standeth so much on his gentilitie
that he turneth anie one of the English sept and planted in Ireland
Bovdeagh Galteagh ! that is English Churle ! ' Hence it was that Shake
speare derived his conception of an Irish gentleman, valorous, * verie
glorious ', choleric, standing upon his dignity as a gentleman, and ready
to resent an imaginary insult to his nation.

Richard Stanyhurst was a fine scholar, educated at the famous
school at Kilkenny which was in later years the school of Swift, Berkeley,
and Congreve. He is placed with Spenser among the poets of the day
by Gabriel Harvey. He was with Harvey one of the little knot of pedants
who tried to * reform ' English poetry by forcing it into conformity with
the laws of the classical metres, and his reputation would stand higher
if he had not ventured on a translation of the Aeneid of Virgil into
English hexameters. There is much in the Description to interest
a reader so eager for information as Shakespeare, and many things that
he read there held a place in his memory. * We shall lose our time/
says Caliban to his co-conspirators against his wonder-working master,
* and all be turned to barnacles, or to apes ' (Tempest, iv. i. 248). Various
books have been suggested by commentators, including Gerard's Herbal
(1597), which might have suggested to Shakespeare the marvel of the
barnacle. They need not have gone beyond a book that Shakespeare
certainly had studied, his Holinshed, for in it the story of the barnacle

272 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

is to be found told in a manner which was likely to remain fixed in his
memory. ' The inhabitants of Ireland are accustomed to move question
whether barnacles be fish or flesh, and as yet they are not fullie resolved,
but most usuallie the religious of strictest abstinence doo eat them on
fish daies.' According to Giraldus Cambrensis and Polychronicon the
* Irish cleargie in this point straie '. Stany hurst, loyal to his country,
defends the Irish clergy, holding ' according to my simple judgement
under the correction of both parties that the barnacle is neither fish
nor flesh, but rather a meane between both ', and thereforth not * within
the compasse of the estatute '.

The interesting discussion which follows of the question whether
there * should be anie living thing that was not fish nor flesh ' may have
been present to Trinculo when he thus resolved the difficulty :

What have we here ? a man or a fish ? dead or alive ? A fish : he smells like a
fish ; a very ancient and fish-like smell ; a kind of not of the newest Poor-John. A strange
fish ... I do now let loose my opinion ; hold it no longer : this is no fish. — Tempest, II. ii. 26.

Shakespeare was the first to use the word * bard ', which, in its
origin, was applied to the Celtic order of minstrel poets, in the sense
which is thus noted in the New English Dictionary, ' a lyric or epic poet,
" a singer ", a poet generally.' The earliest instance of the use of the
word in this sense which is quoted in the Dictionary, is the following
passage in Antony and Cleopatra :

Enobarbiis. Ho! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, cannot
Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho!
His love to Antony. — III. ii. 16.

His ' Holinshed ' told him of the Irish bards ; how * the lords and
gentlemen stand in great awe * of a bard if he be not bountifully awarded,
and some such discomfortable bard was present to the mind of Richard
when he said, * A bard of Ireland told me once I should not live long
after I saw Richmond * (Richard HI, rv. ii. 105). Stray reminiscences of
Stany hurst's Description may be found scattered here and there through
out the works of Shakespeare. There he found a eulogy of aqua vitae,
praising it into the ninth degree, and enumerating twenty-four of its
virtues, somewhat in the manner of FalstafFs commendation of sack.
This may have suggested Master Ford's unwillingness to ' trust an
Irishman with my aqua-vitae bottle '.

Now for our Irish wars:

We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns,
Which live like venom where no venom else
But only they have privilege to live.— Richard 77, II. i. 156,

D. H. MADDEN

273

This is the Irish policy put into the mouth of Richard, as he departs
for Ireland. How came Shakespeare to speak of the native Irish with
contempt as rug-headed kerns, and with hatred, as venom which
St. Patrick had failed to expel ? A question to be asked, for Shakespeare
is wont to attribute to characters in his play ideas and feelings which
were present to his mind, and if another explanation of these words
were forthcoming, it would be welcome.

Shakespeare's kerns were * rug-headed ', and * shag-hair'd ', for he
had read in the Description of Ireland of the * long crisped bushes of
heare which they term glibs, and the same they nourish with all their
cunning '.

He had also read in Stanyhurst an account of * how Saint Patricke
was mooved to expell all the venemous wormes out of Ireland ', a
slanderous suggestion from the Dialogues of Alanus Copus ; ' Did
fortasse inde a nonnullis solet nihil esse in Hibernia venenati praeter
ipsos.'

This suggestion is quoted with indignation by Stanyhurst, but
Shakespeare, with dramatic propriety, put it into the mouth of Richard
when he was about to carry out the drastic policy of warfare, followed
by the * supplanting ' of the native Irish. To Irishmen it is satisfactory
to know that Richard's speech is not to be attributed to Shakespeare's
personal experience of Irishmen, but to his custom of making use, for
the purpose of his dramas, of ideas suggested by some book which
might happen to be before him at the time, or which recurred to his
memory. As when writing The Tempest, he put into the mouth of
Gonzalo, Montaigne's description of an ideal commonwealth, so, with
greater dramatic propriety, he attributed to Richard an idea which
attracted his attention as he read it in his Holinshed.

Every link connecting Ireland with Shakespeare is deserving of note
at this time, and another can be found in the earnest and successful
study of his works, for which Ireland has been for many years dis
tinguished. Malone was in the first ranks of Shakespearian scholars
in the eighteenth century. The Right Honourable John Monck Mason,
a well-known member of the Irish Parliament, was also known as a
Shakespearian commentator, and as the author of a volume on the
works of Beaumont and Fletcher. In later years Ireland has given to
Shakespearian literature John Kells Ingram, Vice-Provost of Trinity
College, Dublin, and Mr. Craig, editor of the Oxford Shakespeare.
Edward Dowden will be gratefully remembered as the author of
Shakespeare, His Mind and Art. These were all graduates of the

274 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

University of Dublin, in which Edward Dowden was for many years
Professor of English Literature. Plays of Shakespeare were often acted
in the private theatricals which were a well-known feature of Irish
society in the eighteenth century. A record of performances at a
country house in the county of Kilkenny, in the year 1774, has been
preserved. Four of Shakespeare's plays were presented. Sir Hercules
Langrishe (the host), Henry Grattan and Henry Flood were the leading
members of the company. Two playbills have been preserved ; one of
Macbeth, in which Grattan took the part of Macduff, another of She
Stoops to Conquer y in which it is interesting to find him in the part of
Mrs. Hardcastle.

To-day an earnest and active Dublin branch of the Empire
Shakespeare Society celebrates the tercentenary of the Master's death ;
with maimed rites, by reason of the war, but with love of the man, and
gratitude for the priceless gift that the civilized world has received at
his hands.

D. H. MADDEN.

NUTLEY, BOOTERSTOWN,

Co. DUBLIN.

DOUGLAS HYDE

275

T(UD THAT(LA DO GHAEDHEAL

<ABHAINN

How it fared with a Gael at Stratford-on-*A*von

CEITHEARNACH de Mhuimhneach mhor mhodar-
tha mhordhalach do bhi ann, agus do baineadh
a gcuid talmhan 6 n-a shinnsearaibh, gur crochadh

moran diobh agus gur dibreadh tar lear moran eile,

preabaire nar mhaith aon rud do dhuine riamh do
dheanfadh dioghbhail do. Agus tharla gur sheol
an Chineamhain e go Sacsana, imeasg a namhad, dar
leis. Agus thainig se go Stratford ar an abhainn,
agus taidhbhrigheadh fis no aisling d6 ann sin. Agus
ar n-eirghe dho as an aisling sin dubhairt se gur
mhaith se do na Sacsanachaibh, agus go maithfeadh
go deo, chomh fad agus bheadh se insan ait sin
imeasg na ndaoine do chonnaic se in a aisling. Agus
do nocht don Chraoibhm a bhfacaidh se ins an bhfis
sin, agus do rinne an laoi.

A great, proud, mo
rose kerne, a Mun-
ster man, who had
sorely suffered, he
and his folk; hatred
was in his heart. The
Sasanach were to him
his enemies, and lo!
by chance he found
himself in their land,
and he came to Strat
ford on the Avon, or
river, and there there
was revealed to him a
vision or a dream, and
on rising up out of that
vision he said that he
forgave the Sasanachs,
and would forgive
them for ever, so long
as he could be in that
place amongst the
people whom he saw
in his dream. And
he revealed what he
had seen in that vision
to the Creeveen, and
he made this lay.

276

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

x>o DAin tern' fAO$Al
t)o CiomAin m6 dm* OAtle Anonn,

CIA An Aic A scArfAi-oe m6
ACc foijt 50 ScfACpoivo AH An ADAinn I

II
Til n-AU liom SAcrAnA. "Do tutll

A great trouble drove me from my home ;
To what place should I come

But east to Stratford on the Avon !

ii

England was not liked of me,

O'n njAe-oeAl, An cfj\ pn mAllACc cnom. But I remembered this not,

ntop

A$uf

n\6 AIJ\ pn
An

Ill

t)l pUAC t>o'n $AU in/ C|\oit>e 50 buAn
An t>fons te cluAin •o'f-ig m6 50 torn.
, Aj\1f, An pUAC r<" «A»«»
m6 AS SctvACpojtt) Ap An AOAinn.

IV

"PA gluAifeACC fArti Ajt
"Of uttieAf mo fuit, A'f ConnAc
t)!of AS ScfAcpoft) Af An

"oconn,

I at Stratford on the Avon.

in

I brooded on my ills,
But all this went away
At Stratford on the Avon.

IV

On the stream in a boat
I closed my eyes, and beheld a vision
At Stratford on the Avon.

ConnAic mft mdjUn CAi-oDpe AS CCACC
AS fiuoAl le flACc AnAll 'f Anon:i,

imCioll AH mo
AS Steepen*) AH An

VI
SiGt> cusAm tlAtnlec, mAH x>o Of

An UAIH 'oo ClAoi"0 polflniuf cnoir,
'"Oul le hOpeliA, tirti AH tiim ;

tMof AS SCHACPOHX) AH An ADAinn.

VII
Conn AC An c-lu'OAi'Ce, fS^lA 'f f$iAn,

A'f P^HCIA leif . t>A UAt A CeAnn,
tH An Wf *nA full, Aff An ftiAt t)UAn ;

t)iOf AS ScHACpont) AH An ADAinn.

VIII

tAims Homeo le n-A

ilumn Aoioinn 05, T>AH Horn,

t>n&CAin r>tine An cj\it> ;

t)fof AS ScpAcpopt) AH An AOAinn.

Spectres saw I a-coming,
Crowding round my boat
At Stratford on the Avon.

VI

Here comes Hamlet
As when he slew Polonius,
With Ophelia hand in hand :
I was at Stratford on the Avon.

VII

Shylock with scale and knife,
Portia beside him,
Death in his eye:

I was at Stratford on the Avon.

VIII

Romeo with his love
And the Friar:

I was at Stratford on the Avon.

DOUGLAS HYDE

277

IX

CotinAic m£ iff 'f

An feAndif cffon ceAnn-eA-ocfom torn,
B A DeifC DAin-t>iAt>At 'SA teAnAtfiAin

t)lof AS ScfACpofo Af An ADAinn.

IX

Lear, his hair on the wind;
Bent, light-headed, bare old man,
And the fiendish daughters following himr
I was at Stratford on the Avon.

An uAinciseAf nA $Afs
AS ciom&nc foimpi A pf Of
£ua An cfeAn-fi$ Af UAff A fS*ne —
tHof AS Scf Atpofo Af An ADAinn.

XI
ConnAic me Obef on 'f A t\io$An

A'f too'OAG CAOD teo. A$ A
t>! ctoigeAnn A*f ct«Af A Af Ait '

t)!of AS Scf Acpo^t) Af An

ConnAic n\6

tlA

*S An
t)!of AS

XII
; t)f peAp cAot

Cf10f A6-C|\6Af AC, Ann,

'mASA-6
An At»Ainn.

XIII
An OeAn t)enffeA6 65 t>An f6itf»

"Oo tACc An c-6At>, -oo t>! f! Ann,
'S An tntipAC tiAf At •out»sofm

t)iof AS Scf Acpoft) Af An

XIV
"Do t>! mo -6A fuit -ouncA x>tut

'S mo DAT) AS fiut»At Af t>^ff nA -oconn..
A6c ConnAC IAT> mAf -o'freicpmn tfl I

t)iof AS Scf Acpofo Af An At»Ainn.

XV

mAC 6m' fA-oAfc
fin. CAmis cuitteA*0 Ann,
5An fsit AS CCACC 50 ft of ;
AS ScfAcpofo Af An ADAinn.

XVI
t)'AitniseAf cutt), niof Aitm$eAf cum,

"Oo t>! mo Cofp SAn tflt SAn meADAif,
'S mo ffiit SAn tfiAfsuf, mAf freAf mAfo ;

t)iof AS ScfAcpofO Af An

An

Lo, the furious Lady
Egging her feeble spouse,
The old King's blood on her dagger-point
I was at Stratford on the Avon.

XI

I saw Oberon and his Queen
And the Clown with the ass head:
I was at Stratford on the Avon.

XII

A Countess too ; and the criss-cross gartered

one was there,

And the merry drunkard mocking him i
I was at Stratford on the Avon.

XIII

The Venetian lady, young, white, gentlej
She too was there;
And the Moor, noble, dark, tall:
I was at Stratford on the Avon.

XIV

My eyes were shut,
My boat was moving;
I saw them as I might see you:
I was at Stratford on the Avon,

xv

They passed away,
Others came,
A-coming all the time:

I was at Stratford on the Avon.

XVI

Some I knew and some not,
My body had no feeling,
My eyes were without sight like a dead man r
I was at Stratford on the Avon.

278

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

xvn
A'f t>'imeis, -o'lmeis,

, mAitfCACA A'f ctAnn,

ipott, f eAn A> *s ;

t)fof AS ScfACf.o|vo Af AH AOAinn.

XVIII

A'f pfionnfAl, CAftoois,
fif fCACA, -OAOine finne
CAiptfnf mdfA A'f cinceif! ;

tMof AS ScfACfOfo A|\ An ADAinn.

XIX

peAnn,

Vucc iAffAi-6 T>6if.ce,
nUisx>ine f fttrfte, ceAnn

tMof AS ScfAC^ofO Af An AOAinn

XX

T)o Dl-olf fin AS CCACC im'

HI f AnAt-ofr f 0 tA"°A Atin»
T)o fiflfcAt mo OA|\c f 0 t«At "oon rti«ix> fin ;

t)lof AS Scf ACf.ofo A|\ An AOAinn.

XXI

tmf -OtAfO -ouine A

mo t>A|\c A|\ f.AX> <5n
SAC CAif Af f.A-0 -oo m' teAnmAin ;
AS 8cfACf.ot\x> A|\ An ADAinn.

xxn
Ann fin An cSitMteAn Aotoinn

mAn Ot&C nA ^cf Ann,
'f AS fl A f-tCAfs of cionn mo f <hle ;

t)lOf AS SCfACJTOjVO Af An ADAinn.
XXIII

•oe ibf eAp, mft Af mo IAISC ;
tiAim " cA fAio An t>f ons ? "

til fAID ACC Ced Af UA6CAf Ulf 56 ;

t)iof AS ScfACfofo Af An ADAinn.
xxnr

"CA AlC AttlAin It)' tlf-f C A SACf Atn

'TlA mblonn -oo nAmAit) mAot A*f t>Att,

fAOf O SAnSAIT), f.UAt, f-OfmAX),

'SI An AIC fm ScfACfOfT) Af An ADAinn.

XVII

There came and went
Fathers, mothers, children,
Nobles and mean, old and young
I was at Stratford on the Avon.

XVIII

Kings, princes, bishops, priests,
Statesmen, folk who made sport,
Captains, tinkers:
I was at Stratford on the Avon.

XIX

Robed queens, courtiers,
Beggars, clerics of the pen,
Maidens, merchants:

I was at Stratford on the Avon.

XX

All came round about me:
They stayed not long,
My barque moved too quickly:
I was at Stratford on the Avon,

XXI

I left them behind,
My barque sails far from the band,
Every ghost ceased to follow:
I was at Stratford on the Avon.

XXII

Then came the beautiful fairy woman,
Ti tania, like the blossom of the trees ;
She laid her wand about my eyes:
I was at Stratford on the Avon.

XXIII

With a start I awoke,
I looked about — Where were the folk?
Nothing but a mist on the top of the waters :
I was at Stratford on the Avon.

XXIV

There is one place in thy land, O Sasana,
In which thy foe becomes blunt and blind,
Free from all hate —
That is Stratford on the Avon.

DOUGLAS HYDE

279

XXV

*oo fst^ot* wo

A /Atbion nA DjrocAt
ITU DUAiteAnn nArhAit) A^\ x>o
C6g 6 cum Scf Acpoft) A|\ An ADAinn.

XXVI

f eit\se Af

Cuitfine ACc fmuAfnce
Seflt 6 50 Sc|\ACpo|vo Af An

XXVII

-f A t)'imif An T)p AOI fin •o^Aoi'6cA(ic
m6 ffof Anoif im* t^nn,
'4 tff uiAiteAtfinAf «Aim-fe
tnfi AS Scf ACJ:OI\IO AJ\ An At)Ainn.

xxv

O Albion,

If an enemy knock at thy door,

Take him to Stratford on the Avon!

XXVI

And from his heart shall pass
All ill will and the fever of hate,
Mindful of nought but thoughts of that Druid :
Yea, speed him to Stratford on the Avon.

XXVII

On me that Druid has worked a druidism,
Which I now set down here in my verse:
He has won pardon from me for his land:
I at Stratford on the Avon.

DOUGLAS HYDE.

T 2

280 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

SHAI^ESPEAT^ES WELSHMEN

THAT Shakespeare ever crossed the borders of Wales must be
regarded as doubtful. It is on record that the company of actors to
which he belonged once visited Chester, and they were often at Shrews
bury, so that his eyes must have rested on the dim blue line of hills in
the west, for the lowland dweller an old-time menace, but for the poet
a land of faery and romance. No closer acquaintance with the country
was needed to enable Shakespeare to create, as he does in Cymbeline, the
atmosphere of the Welsh highlands, the clear, bracing air, the towering
heights, the * rain and wind * of * dark December ', the * goodly days '
when it was a joy to bid * good morrow to the sun '. His mind seems,
indeed, to play around Milford Haven with a peculiar affection : tell
me, says Imogen —

how far it is

To this same blessed Milford : and by the way
Tell me how Wales was made so happy as
To inherit such a haven —

lines which ring with a very different temper from the curt allusions in
Richard II to Flint and the mysterious * Barkloughly '. Yet, even in
this case, although local zeal has found in Hoyle's Mouth, near Tenby,
the original of the cave of Belarius, it is not necessary to assume that
there was personal knowledge of the scene. Milford Haven was famous
throughout the Tudor period as the landing-place of the Earl of Rich
mond in 1485, and for admirers of Robert, Earl of Essex, the district had
the further interest that here, at Lamphey, their hero had spent his early
days and made his best and closest friends.

But if Shakespeare never set foot in Wales, it is beyond question
that he met many Welshmen. Age-long barriers had broken down with
the accession to the throne of the Tudors of Penmynydd, and during the
sixteenth century the stream of migration from Wales into England had
been unceasing, until at the death of Elizabeth Welshmen were to be

J. E. LLOYD 281

found in every department of English public life, as churchmen, soldiers,
sailors, courtiers, merchants, travellers, and scholars. Some were men
of good education, like Sir John Salisbury of Lleweni, one of the cul
tured patrons of the writers of Shakespeare's circle, and Hugh Holland
of Denbigh, the author of verses which are prefixed to the First Folio.
Such might say with Glendower,

I can speak English, lord, as well as you.

Others, no doubt, spoke with an accent which bore testimony to their
origin : their English, like Fluellen's, was not ' in the native garb ',
making them easy targets for popular ridicule and fair game for the
dramatist who wished to add to his gallery of eccentrics. It is not to
be wondered at, then, that Shakespeare's wide compass of contem
porary portraiture should include Welshmen : what is remarkable is
that the painting should be so genial and sympathetic, as though the
poet wished to record a conviction that the Welsh deserved honourable
treatment, as a people whose solid virtues made ample amends for their
little weaknesses and vagaries. All foolish deriders of the Welsh race
are rebuked in Pistol's discomfiture, and the last word upon the subject
is Gower's — ' henceforth let a Welsh correction teach you a good Eng
lish condition '. The poet's universal sympathy had dissolved the
inborn prejudices of the Warwickshire rustic.

It does not at all detract from the clarity of Shakespeare's insight
and the breadth of his humanity in this matter that his attitude was in
accord with the current fashion in court circles in his day. With a
Welsh queen on the throne, who drew her descent in an uninterrupted
male line from Ednyfed Fychan, the chief counsellor of Llywelyn the
Great, it was natural that Wales should be in favour and that Welshmen
should hold their heads high. When Henry V, on the strength of his
birth at Monmouth, is made to say,

For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman,

he speaks as Elizabeth herself might have done, and we may, perhaps,
conjecture that it was the rough loyalty of some Elizabethan Welshman
which first suggested the honest, but uncourtly response : * By Jeshu,
I am your majesty's countryman, I care not who know it ; I will confess
it to all the 'orld.' But Shakespeare's study of the Welsh temperament
is far from being a mere echo of the polite adulation of the court ; it
bears witness to close observation, not only of tricks of utterance and

282 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

idiom, but also of bearing and manner, of mental habit and moral out
look. The first experiment was Glendower. Holinshed is, of course,
responsible for his appearance in Henry IV, but Holinshed supplies no
detail in the full-length portrait painted by Shakespeare, beyond a vague
reference to ' art magike '. The

worthy gentleman,
Exceedingly well read and profited
In strange concealments, valiant as a lion
And wondrous affable and as bountiful
As mines of India,

is entirely the creation of the poet — a dignified picture of the soldier
and man of letters, not without a certain element of the bizarre, for
Glendower takes himself very seriously and his superstitions are house
hold gods, upon which no one may lay unhallowed hands. It would
seem as though this first attempt to portray a Welshman had suggested
a new field to Shakespeare, for in his next play — The Merry Wives of
Windsor — he gives us another, of a more ordinary type, the Welsh parson
and schoolmaster. Among the poet's teachers at Stratford was one
Thomas Jenkins, and critics have not failed to see in him the original of
Sir Hugh Evans. The character is, undoubtedly, drawn from life, and
it may not be fanciful to read in it the malicious zest of an old pupil paying
off the scores of many a year gone by. Yet the satire is not unkindly.
Sir Hugh is peppery, a solemn corrector of other men's errors of speech,
happily oblivious of his own, but he is very human, with his ' chollors '
and * trempling of mind ', his quaint medley of madrigal and psalm, and
his generous readiness to make common cause with his rival, when he
finds that both have been befooled. The part he plays is honest, if
somewhat unclerical, and he has the true Welsh turn for edification :
' Sir John Falstaff, serve Got and leave your desires, and fairies will not
pinse you.'

But Shakespeare's finished portrait of the Welshman is, assuredly,
Fluellen, which followed quickly upon the heels of Sir Hugh Evans and
may, perhaps, be regarded as a development of the earlier sketch. For
this, also, an original has been found in Sir Roger Williams, a famous
warrior of the Elizabethan age, who fought in France and in the Nether
lands and was buried in 1595 in St. Paul's Cathedral. Colour is given
to the suggestion by the fact that Williams was the author of a Brief
Discourse of War which attained to some reputation ; like Fluellen, he
was an authority upon the * disciplines of the wars ' and ' the pristine
wars of the Romans '. Be this as it may, there is no more lovable figure

J. E. LLOYD 283

in Shakespeare than the Welsh captain si Henry V — choleric, impetuous,
born to set the world to rights, prodigal of his learning, and lavish of
good advice, but inflexibly honest, valorous, patriotic, one whose zeal
for righteousness is unfeigned and without malice. By Fluellen Welsh
men of all ages are content to stand or fall ; they are willing that the
world should laugh at his humours, for they know that in him Shake
speare has given undying expression to the best qualities of the race to>
which they belong.

J. E. LLOYD.

284 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

/ GOF

BROS hil Taliesin ac Aneirin gynt,
A wybu gyntaf yn yr ynys hon
Gyfaredd can, a'i clywai'n lief y gwynt,
Yn nhrydar adar, ac yn nhwrf y don, —
Dros wlad a noddai feirdd o oes i oes,
A gadwai'n fyw drwy'r nos y dwyfol dan,
A brofodd ias a gwynfyd cerdd a'i gloes,
A arddel fyth yr enw o wlad y gan, —
Y dygaf hyn o ged i gof yr un
A ganodd fel na chanodd bardd erioed,
A dreiddiodd holl ddirgelion calon dyn :
Allweddau'r enaid yn ei law a roed.
Brenin y beirdd, fry ar ei orsedd hardd ;
Fythol ddieilfydd, ddihefelydd fardd !

J. MORRIS JONES.

BANGOR,

GOGLEDD CYMRU.

J. MORRIS JONES 285

TRANSLATION
TO THE MEMOIR OF THE <BA<I(p OF .AVON

FOR the race of Taliesin and Aneirin of old,

Who knew first in this isle

The enchantment of song, who heard it in the cry of the wind,

In the twitter of birds, and in the roar of the wave, —

For a land that cherished bards from age to age,

That kept alive through the night the divine fire,

That has felt the thrill and joy of song and its pang,

That claims still the name of the land of song, —

I bring this tribute to the memory of one

Who sang as no poet ever sang,

Who penetrated all the secrets of man's heart :

The keys of the soul were committed unto his hand.

King of the bards, high on his stately throne ;

Eternally incomparable, peerless bard !

J. MORRIS JONES.
BANGOR,

NORTH WALES.

286

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

FR <BTD

NOD Awen a'i dihewyd

Yw'r Bardd a ganodd i'r byd.

Pwy rydd gwymp i'w hardd gampwaith ?

Farweiddia nwyf arddun iaith ?

Safon lien a'i hawen hi, —

Uchter cynrych Tair Canri'.

Y gerdd ddygir i'w ddygwyl, —
I ddod yn hardd, daw yn wyl.
Os cawn wen i ysgawnhau
Llys hirnos mewn llusemau ;
Tra'r huan eirian erys,
Pa swyn i lamp sy'n ei lys ?
Yn nen gwyl y Bardd arddun,
Wele, mae'r Haul mawr ei hun !

Pencreawdr pynciau'r awen

Ddramodol fyw, llyw ei Hen.

Y ciliau biau bywyd,

I'w lygad gwawl godai i gyd.

Rhagoriaeth Gwir, a gwarth Gau,

Rod i odd trwy'i Gymeriadau ;

Y drych ar bob anian drodd,

A'r iawn fathair ni fethodd :

Saif eu cwrs i fywiocau

Sel orysol yr oesau.

Galwodd Ffug o leoedd ffawd

I gyhoeddus gyhuddwawd ;

Brenhinoedd a rhengoedd rhwysg

Ddaw'n ebrwydd a'u hoen abrwysg ;

*The Muse acclaims the
Bard who sang for all
mankind.

Who shall raze his noble
fabric or dull his words —
the glory of three cen
turies ?

With modest mien this
solemn year,

Let song exalt the poet-
seer.

No glimmeringlamps cheer
the gloom of Night's dark
palace:

to gild the bard's undying
day the Sun himself will
shine forth.

The drama's arch -creator,
crowned, he sways the
magic deeps; he knows
the soul's dark cells ;

Virtue and Truth, Shame
and Wrong, in his pageants
stalk before us ;

from Nature he drew his
word-pictures :

his motley throng move us
to laughter and tears.

Falsehood he summons to
the bar of scorn;

he sets forth Kings,
battles,

1 The marginal paraphrase is based on a metrical rendering in English by R. A. Griffith
(Elphin), Esq., Merthyr Tydvil, Glam.

PARCH. J. O. WILLIAMS (PEDROG)

Mwstr brwydrau, banllefau lion
Camp cewri rhag cwymp coron;
Daw'r Bradwr i wib-redeg —
Filain y diafl, a'i wen deg ;
Try Eiddig yn ffyrnig ffest,
O ymgernial mae gornest :
Rhoi hyder eu heriadau
Ar fin y dur fynnai dau ;
Arglwyddes, oedd ddiafles ddig, —
Dyma'i nodau damniedig !
A brud cosb cai'i bradog hun
Ddiosg camwedd ysgymun ;
Ni cheir a'i rin ddewin ddaw
A gudd halog ddeheulaw.
Gwrendy dewr dan gryndod don
Gwys sobredig ysbrydion ;
Daw llais barnol bythol bau
O lithoedd drychiolaethau.

287

Ysbryd dwys i'w briod iau
A rwym synnwyr Ymsonau :
Try'n dyst yr enaid distaw
Fod i ddyn ei ' fyd a ddaw '.
Ymdyrr ar fy myfyr mwy
Lif eneidiol, — ofnadwy !
Tr diwaelod rhaid dilyn
Meddyliau dyfnderau dyn :
Ond os iddynt y suddaf,
Suddo'n nes i Dduw a wnaf ;
A ffoi i ddydd y ffydd ddi-wall
Wyr fod erof fyd arall.

Ni ddaw diwedd dihewyd
I'r Bardd a ganodd i'r byd.

traitors,

rivals, fighting- bloody
jowls ;

the Lady, nightly raving
in accents wild ;

her guilty sleep by terror
racked ;

the warrior cowering with
blenched cheek ;

the phantoms muttering
from the gloom.

He links the spirit to the
word of fate, and brings
witness of a world to come.

Depths unplumbed must

still be sounded,
where man's long-hidden

thoughts are hid.

To every heart shall aye

be bound
the Bard who sang for all !

LIVERPOOL.

J. O. WILLIAMS (Pedrog).

288 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

IT is a subject for comment that Shakespeare, with all his shrewd tact
for what constituted a good tale, never apparently felt drawn to the legend
of Arthur. At all events, no one of his plays is based on that theme :
and this becomes only the more strange when all things are considered.
It was not that he ignored the national heroes : the existence of his
Histories confutes that particular charge. Neither did he regard Celtic
legend as unsuitable for the stage ; for he himself was master of * the
fairy way of writing ', and moreover, he staged both Lear and Cym-
beline with striking effect. Nor again, could it have been that the * noble
and joyous history ' was ground unfamiliar to his rough audiences at
the Globe. It was, on the contrary, one of those popular stories to
which the dramatist was wont to turn for the raw material of his plays :
and that it was not lacking in dramatic possibilities had already been
shown by the success of the academic drama, The Misfortunes of Arthur
(1587). Nevertheless, the fact remains that Britain's one great contri
bution to the great world-stories was, for all practical purposes, neglected
by Shakespeare, and the world is the poorer by at least one great drama.

It would, however, be wrong to say that Shakespeare entirely
ignores the Arthurian story : in his works are occasional references,
of interest in themselves, but most interesting for the light they throw
upon Shakespeare's attitude to that theme. The allusions are all of
a humorous kind : they are uttered by Falstaff, Lear's Fool, Justice
Shallow, and the like, and, taken together, they represent a coarse bur
lesque of the old-world narrative. It is significant, to begin with, that
Arthur and the Christian heroes are missing from the account of the
Nine Worthies which occurs in Act V of Love's Labour '$ Lost (i. 123-4):
their places there are taken by Hercules and Pompey, as if the great
mediaeval figures had ceased to be of heroic rank. And such, indeed,
is the suggestion of the references themselves, which all allude to the
legend in light and ironical vein. Thus Falstaff enters the Boar's Head
roaring a ballad of Arthur (2 Henry IVt n. iv. 32). It is Mistress

J. W. H. ATKINS 289

Quickly's belief that Falstaff in the end finds refuge in * Arthur's
bosom ' (Henry V, n. iii. 10). Boyet, in brisk word-play, refers lightly
to * Queen Guinever ' when * a little wench ' (Love's Labour 's Lost iv.
i. 125). Justice Shallow recalls the time when he played * Sir Dagonet
in Arthur's show ' (2 Henry IV, ill. ii. 285). Hotspur alludes impa
tiently to Glendower's conversation, to his ceaseless chatter regarding
' the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies ' (/ Henry IV, in. i. 150).
Elsewhere a parody of those prophecies is supplied by the doggerel of
Lear's Fool (King Lear in. ii. 80 ff.), while Kent alludes with scorn to
Arthur's home at Camelot (King Lear n. ii. 85).

Now the tone of these allusions is sufficiently plain : it suggests
a theme that has been robbed of its freshness and glamour, a theme
vulgarized and degraded through some mysterious cause. Of the
romance of * the gray king ' no mention is made ; no hint is given of
the high tragedy of Guinevere, or of the chivalry and prowess of * Lance
lot or Pelleas or Pellenore '. Guinevere, instead, has become a flaunting
quean, Merlin a tedious driveller : the foolish Sir Dagonet alone of
Arthur's knights is recalled, while their exploits are likened to the
driving of geese to Camelot.

How then is one to account for this travesty of a splendid theme :
on the part, too, of a poet who held within his gaze all that was beautiful
and heroic in human life ? Is it the same elusive problem as is found
in his treatment of Troilus ? It is not inconceivable that, where Arthur
was concerned, some amount of depreciation was due to the Renaissance
scorn for things mediaeval. Ascham had condemned the legend in
downright terms : by him the deeds of the Round Table were summed
up as * open manslaughter and bold bawdry e ' ; and Rabelais also had
heaped ridicule on the old romance. But of greater significance still
was that degraded medium through which Arthur's story was wont to
reach the popular ear, and this factor indeed can be described as the
decisive one. The legend had become the theme of a fallen race of
minstrels, * singers upon benches and barrel-heads — that gave a fit
of mirth for a groat — in taverns and ale-houses and such other places
of base resort '. And the fumes of the ale-house still clung to the story,
tarnishing its brightness and despoiling it of its dignity and tragedy
alike. Outside popular circles the earlier vision remained. Sidney has
a good word for ' honest King Arthur ', while Spenser presents him to
the gentle reader as a prince of all the virtues. But Shakespeare wrote
first and last for a popular stage and for a popular audience ; and in the
matter of Arthur he has necessarily to take their views into account »

290 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

The theme once touched by popular ridicule, it became, for a popular
audience, devoid of the heroic, and therefore incapable of dignified
treatment.

And this would seem to explain Shakespeare's attitude towards
Arthurian romance, though it fails to meet the case of the Troilus bur
lesque. It was not that Shakespeare regarded the legend of Arthur as
unsuitable for drama on account of * the remoteness of its spirit from
the world of living men '. Such a theory has been urged and might
indeed hold, had the dramatist merely refrained from using the material
for the plots of one or more of his serious plays. But his attitude is
obviously of a more positive kind : it is one of plain ridicule towards a
vulgarized story ; and this attitude as a popular dramatist he was bound
to take.

J. W. H. ATKINS.

UNIVERSITY COLLEGE OF WALES,
ABERYSTWYTH.

J. E. SANDYS 291

G1(EEK EPIGT(AM ON THE TOMB
OF SHA%ESPEA1{E

-ft) 7rapa> Travpa Aariva,
7ravpoT€p JLhXrjvwv ypajutt/AaTa, TTCUS

TTOTL TrarpiSo?
T £0\a pfyivT
evravOol 8' atyoppos Icov9 icaka vroAAa 7rovrj<Tas
evpes repju,a jQlov KOI ieX.€Os aOavarov.

HERE, as a boy, beside his native stream,
He once did learn ' small Latin and less Greek
Hence, as a man, he the great City sought,
To win the noblest prizes of the Stage ;
Hither, with all his work well done, he came,
To find the end of life, and deathless fame.

J. E. SANDYS.

CAMBRIDGE.

292 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

EFXESIIAAOr EFKHMION

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A. W. MAIR

TT^AISE OF SHAKESPEA^

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE.

GLAUKON, of Athens.
TAURIDES, an Englishman.

Glaukon. THERE was current in the city yesterday afternoon a
strong rumour that an English ship had just come into the Peiraeus,
of exceptional size and remarkable in her general equipment. Imme
diately there was a rush from the town ; citizen, alien, naturalized
alien, all poured down to see the vessel, and I myself went with them.
For indeed, I have always been, as I am said to be, a friend of England,
but more than ever now when England is engaged in the greatest of
all wars within human memory. The ship herself did not disappoint
expectations. In the phrase of Thucydides, * trial outdid report/
But what was more admirable to me than the ship was the physical
fitness of sailor and marine alike : the truly British sans souci showing
in their faces, a vivid expression of the * hearts of oak ' — of the ' Britons
never, never shall be slaves '.

I had not satisfied my eyes when I saw coming off the ship Mr. Bull,
an Englishman, with whom I had an old friendship, and who was now
visiting Athens after a long interval. After we had greeted each other
very cordially, I asked him whether the German stories which con
tinually reach us were true. * Is it true', I asked, * that now Englishmen
are all become star-gazers — always looking to the heavens and asking
one another when and from what quarter the fearful thing will come :

Socrates himself, whose star-gazing was ridiculed by Aristophanes,

u

294 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

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A. W. MAIR 295

would be unremarked among you : or again they " dive into the deeps " ;
like troglodytes they dig up the earth and live in stuffy " cabins under
earth " — like the human race before Prometheus — rarely and hardly
lifting up their heads to " this upper world " as Plato says ; utterly terri
fied by the " downrushing thunderbolts " of the Kaiser ? '

Taurides. ' That tale 's not true ', friend Glaukon. In fact, if
you would believe me who have seen with my own eyes and have come
directly from the scene of action—rather than those, probably not quite
disinterested, gentlemen, who studiously spread reports among you —
Englishmen have hardly at all altered their way of life : they live
practically as they have always lived : as Aristophanes says of Sophocles :

Easy before and not less easy now.

To mention a single sign of this — when I left England for Athens they
were holding a festival in honour of Shakespeare.

Glaukon. Shakespeare ? the poet ?

Taurides. The same.

Glaukon. A festival in honour of a poet, when they are engaged
in such a tremendous war ! What queer folks those English be !

Taurides. Nay, have you not heard that long ago, when the
Lacedaemonians were engaged in a war with the Messenians, they
invited to Sparta the elegiac poet Tyrtaeus, in order that his elegiacs
might stir up the valour of their citizens. Similar is the attitude of
Englishmen to Shakespeare. They look on him as a man who has
' deserved well ' of the state, as a * benefactor ', inasmuch as he wisely
and well in many a line admonished our country and reminded her
and praised her, and in particular wrote the famous lines commencing :

This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,

U 2

296 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

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vfjLGTepot,$ TroiTjTals, ov pa5/ft)9 ep^a) aTTOKpivecrOai,, ?roAA?;^ 5* az/

A. W. MAIR 297

This happy breed of men, this little world,

This precious stone set in the silver sea,

Which serves it in the office of a wall,

Or as a moat defensive to a house,

Against the envy of less happier lands,

This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.

Are we not right in remembering and honouring, even when he is dead,
a poet who wrote such praise of England, especially when we now have
to defend her against the cruellest of all enemies ?

Glaukon. Very right, indeed.

Taurides. Moreover, I seem to have noticed this, that Poetry
does not flourish without Freedom, nor Freedom without Poetry.
Hellas was the motherland of the Muses, yet even in Hellas the Muses
did not remain after Hellas was enslaved by the Romans ; now do not
be vexed with me if, like a second Phrynichus, I ' remind you of the
woes of your kin ' : they migrated to Italy. When the Romans, in their
turn, declined on luxury and enervation and effeminacy, immediately
the Muses forsook them and fled ; fled, I know not whither, unless
it were to our England ; and from that time we have no unreasonable
claim to be the first of nations in other things as well as in poetry. So
true are the words of Gray :

Her track, where'er the goddess roves,
Glory pursues, and generous Shame.

In any case, when the Muses took refuge with us, Shakespeare
became their spokesman, or rather, perhaps, I should call him the
hierophant of the mysteries of the Muses. The Muse * loved him with
an exceeding love ', but so far from robbing him of his eyes — as she did
Demodikos of the court of Alkinoos — she actually opened his eyes,
and gave him the golden keys that

can unlock the gates of Joy ;
Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears,
Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears.

But what is your own opinion of the poetry of Shakespeare ?

Glaukon. The fact is I have not much studied English poetry,

298 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

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VTTepjSakwv TOV? T€paTO)8ei,$ eKeivov? €LO~rjyayey Trepl TOVTO

A. W. MAIR 299

and it is not easy for me to give an answer. I should be very grateful if,
while we walk, you would explain to me Shakespeare's merits.

Taurides. That is a big task ! If I were to praise Shakespeare
without quoting examples, my words would probably fail to carry con
viction : if, on the other hand, I were to quote a few extracts, this would
be a case of the proverbial * commending a house with a brick '. Hierocles
tells us of a pedant who, wishing to sell his house, carried about a brick
as a specimen of it. I should be in like case if I attempted, in the brief
while that we are walking to the city, to recount the beauties of Shake
speare. However, if I must mention one or two points out of the ten
thousand possible topics, I really do not know where to begin, and I am
honestly in Homer's difficulty :

What shall I first, what shall I last recount ?

Let me begin with the old problem. Should a poet — or, for that
matter, should a painter — represent men better than ordinary men like
ourselves, or worse men, or men just such as we are ? Your own Sopho
cles, if you recollect, said that he himself represented men as they should
be, while Euripides represented them as they actually are. Now one
would find it hard to say which of these doctrines Shakespeare sup
ported. Sometimes you would be inclined to say the one opinion,
sometimes the other. But, in my judgement, the real truth is that
Shakespeare looked with little favour on this sort of quibbling. Clearly
he agreed with Aristotle in holding that the function of the poet is not
to relate what has happened, but what may happen — not to give the
particular, like the historian, but the universal : looking only to one
consideration — how a certain sort of person will speak or act on a given
occasion, according to the law of probability or necessity. This point
of view resolves the criticism of Shakespeare made by some people,
that he sometimes introduces monstrous and impossible characters, as,
for example, Caliban. Now had the intention of Shakespeare been to
represent an ordinary man when he portrayed Caliban, — you know
the character — then he would have been open to criticism. But the
actual fact is that Shakespeare was well aware that, artistically , poetically ',
a plausible impossibility is preferable to an unplausible possibility.
He, accordingly, lightly went beyond the limits of the actual world

300 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

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A. W. MAIR 301

and introduced those monstrous creations, his sole care being that in
speech, as in action, they should be consistent with themselves — in a
word, produce their appropriate pleasure. So considered, Caliban and
the Witches are no more deserving of censure than Othello or Hamlet
or the like.

These remarks are meant to be an exposition, not a defence of
Shakespeare. If defence is needed, we have at hand the Aristotelian
defence : * but so they say '. For in the time of Shakespeare such
things were not only said but believed. Having an inadequate acquain
tance with many portions of the globe, they easily imagined these to be
the home of all sorts of monsters. Shakespeare, indeed, himself actually
believed in the existence of a race of men * whose heads do grow beneath
their shoulders '. As to the Witches, if any one objects to them, he
would do well to remember that just about Shakespeare's time, so far
from the existence of witches being doubted, they were a subject of
terror, and any woman suspected of employing magic simples or other
means of witchcraft was examined with horrible tortures and, if con
victed, punished with the utmost severity.

But, in any case, Shakespeare's aim always — and his sole aim — was
consistency. He did not pretend to be an archaeologist or a geographer,
or anything of that sort, but simply a poet. He was convinced that
different arts have different ends. The end of one art is knowledge,
the end of another is persuasion : and so for every art a particular end.
His own particular art being poetry, he aimed always at producing the
pleasure which is appropriate to poetry. Indeed, he says himself in the
epilogue of The Tempest :

Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please.

I seem to recollect a story of an embassy which the Romans sent to
Tarentum, and how the Tarentines jeered when the ambassadors made
a slip in their Greek. Now this sort of meticulous pedantry had small

302 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

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A. W. MAIR 303

concern for Shakespeare, or, indeed, for any one who has * thumbed '
his Aristotle. Error in such matters is of intention, not of art.

And just this fact — just the fact that Shakespeare does not bestow
pedantic pains on the non-essential — is one of the main reasons why the
pleasure he affords is not confined to the inhabitants of a particular
place or to a particular generation, but is enjoyed equally by those far
removed in many ways. Whatever is special to a particular time, a
particular locality, a particular profession, has a meaning for a few only,
' but for the general it needs interpreters '. Shakespeare's men and
Shakespeare's women are moved by like passions and desires even as
we are. It has been well said that ' In the writings of other poets, a
character is too often an individual : in those of Shakespeare it is
commonly a species '.

Glaukon. This is no ordinary poet, my friend, you represent.
Please continue.

Taurides. Nay, my friend, of my eulogy — if it is to be worthy
of its subject — * not yet the pedestal is laid ', but even if

For wellnigh half a moon
I spoke right on,

I could not do more than mention a fraction of his excellences, seeing
that he not merely surpassed his predecessors and his contemporaries,
but has set a mark which after-generations find impossible to surpass.
Shall I praise first his language — his perspicuity, his harmony, his
copious diction, * a well of English undefiled ' ? Shall I praise his intel
lectual qualities — his grandeur and his compass, his nimbleness, literally
his * myriad-mindedness ' ? Shall I tell you how he manages the comic
element — grazing at times the vulgar, yet always observing truth to
life ? Or his use of the commonplaces — his philosophy — his sententiae
or pithy sayings, most of which have already passed into proverbs, and
which every Englishman has ' bound about his heart continually and
tied about his neck ' ? Or his power in the expression of the emotions,
whether anger, or pity, or sorrow ? Or the songs he has everywhere
introduced in his drama — what John Milton calls * his native woodnotes

304 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

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A. W. MAIR.

A. W. MAIR 305

wild ' ? Or perhaps it would be more appropriate, in view of the critical
position in which my country now is placed, to praise his patriotism
and to refer to the numerous passages which are at once praise of
England and an exhortation to Englishmen : for example, those lines
breathing of manhood and valour which occur in King John :

Come the three corners of the world in arms,

And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,

If England to itself do rest but true.

But here we are at the house of Callias, with whom I am going to
stay, so I must stop. We shall discuss these topics in more detail
another time. * So fare thou well . . . but I shall remember thee and
another song.'

A. W. MAIR.

306 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

COMMEMOT(ATIO DOT^SSOI

ECCE dies felix vatis tria saecula summi

Accumulans ipsum concelebrare iubet!
Romanumque Anglumque simul, puerumque Britannum,

1 STRATA tulere VADI dulcis AVONA tui :
Cor patriae iuvenem pavit, suavissima rura,

Urbs, caput ipsa altis urbibus, inde fovet :
Tradidit urbs orbi terrarum, aetatibus aetas,

Oceano Tamesis ripa, GLOBUSQUE globo :
REGIA ut aequabat pelago sua signa VIRAGO,

Naturae atque hominum splendidus auctor erat ;
2 Aurea cui cunctae limarunt dicta Camenae,

Commisitque suam Delius ipse lyram.
Mel stillat Sophoclis, lacrimis Euripidis undat,

Cumque furore opus est, Aeschylus ille tonat ;
Ludere seu placet et socco mutare cothurnum,

Alter Aristophanes, Plautus et alter, erit.
O patriae, O Musarum, O libertatis amator,

Haec dum tutamur, spiritus altor ades !
Aerumnis solitam fer opem, repetatque precamur

Nunc tua dilectos nobilis umbra Lares !
Venturi certis actum celebrare licebit

Sic aevum, ut referes spemque fidemque tuis !

HERBERTUS WARREN, Eques.

Poet ices, apud Oxon., nuper Praelector ;
Coll. B. M. Magd. Praeses.

1 I know not whether it has been remarked, but it is certainly remarkable, that the
name 4 Strat-ford on Avon ' contains the record of the three chief races which have made
our country and tongue.

2 And precious phrase by all the Muses filed. — Sonnet LXXXV. v. 4.

H. GOLLANCZ 307

nSnn

? D'T "fe I Wl D'^y *TW7 PNn * Hath not a Jew eyes ? Hath not
if/' i a Jew hands?'

^b fc vb\ wu enn w DKH

p

PlTini V»p Dini 11p « Warmed and cool'd by the same
/ 1 »i/ ». , ..-'

. , .

winter and summer ?

DV
ifnm nin*n hy na Syi why scorn ye him then?

H

j; When the days were dark, a Seer

, arose; lifting his voice in parable

WflTI p« HD^» *|fiyin TX and song, he gave utterance to

this plea.

anan nrnn nnnn on

Kin nrw nr

mnia

rej°ice> ye Isles °f

For here was born the Si

sweetest of song !

308

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

in

-in

'.He vvas not of an as6* but for ail

time.'

I

n Tipa uriKa Trip yas?:

Tiaaa iae> aie Kin p manai
/

ir *a ^tt« 1PSJ paaa D8T 31b 'Good name ', said he,' in man and
r j woman is the immediate iewel of

yy ioiy «in piya piyn oipa P TX their soui.'

cyn v^i nnm

Misname no man can glorify; for
^e world is too

n rtaarn

wn runa

«S p No man can utter his praise; he is

tmrti frii tmvan ^m te Chief ""^ ^ singers'

Let us exult, we men of this age,

for s^68^6 is

! uruun wn twan

IV

DV I?* Ha «in

With prophetic spirit he spake the

nann nan n^ra
w^ai nwin nrm

N1? DSiya nNTn p«n 'This England never did, nor
§ i I never shall,

mn\ f iy vsb ny ny iraoic ^isn 161 Lie at the proud foot of a con-
nSoaa nnyoa paa »waa u^y on^n1? DM quei )r;
nan

;rnn

"]nya

Naught shall make us rue,
OK If England to itself do rest but true.'

H. GOLLANCZ

309

no»

nam

'.tin?

KM

TID* N71
TO

DTI

o-n

H7l
pK

p»

fiS Witt DJ

HMD

nn

'This royal throne of Kings,'
the sceptre shall never depart from
the Isles-a land of splendour and
honour, to freedom holding: true,
hers the abundance of the seas,

sea, [wall,

Which serves it in the office of a
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier

lands.'
Rejoice and be glad, O Isles of the

Sea;
The spirit of Shakespeare shieldeth

his folk!

i
Bn3« Mft

nan <u> nrrn

y jn

iryi inS DK

p«

By the spirit divine he, the patriot
prophet, taught men to seek first
The weal of the realm; he strength.

biteth-'. ;Sweet are the uses of

adversity.

So taught he of good and m.

« m nun
pn ina^n nswn

n^yaa D^yi msrya nr
nnn

iay wv nn
K nata

niiy

These things he did see and told of.
List to his voice! This hero be
hold, — * his work under the heaven
is bright as the sapphire ', and he,
like to an angel speeding to and
fro, sings this song amid the choir
angelic :—

1 Let all the ends thou aim'st at be
thy country's, thy God's, and
truth's.'

E'en this year let us be glad
in praising together his name and
his fame !

X

H. GOLLANCZ.

310

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

: H 9 u

ff

u 3 u

u 8 u

TO

i ^ o

A. A. MACDONELL 3II

TAT(APHT(ASE

1. THREE hundred years ago this great poet, who arose in the town of Stratford

(vUhikd-tlrlha\ in the spring, casting off his mortal frame, entered into immor
tality there.

2. ' By the imperishability of my works a column of fame is assuredly surpassed': so

the Roman poet said. How much more such words befit him who significantly
became a ' Shakespear ' (calayac-saktt : ' one who shakes his spear ' and ' one whose
genius spreads').

3. For always challenging his rivals' fame and extending his renown in every land, he then

became unique, unrivalled on earth among literary men by the force of his poetic
genius (or spear).

4. Behold, a marvel appears in the land of our foes intent on the destruction of this poet's

countrymen : claimed as their own he is celebrated there to-day with a great festival.

5. For to this composer of plays, not his own country only but the world itself is the

stage on which by skilfully mingling mirth and gravity he displays the vicissitudes
of human fate.

6. His pre-eminence is praised by ordinary men and by the greatest of poets as well with

unanimity. Hence he is exalted in the host of literary men like the sun that fares in
the midst of the planets.

7. He needs no glorifying monument, for he will endure for ever like the sun and moon.

No conqueror by universal victory has ever reached the level of his lustre.

This encomium has been composed

by the teacher Mugdhanala (' fire of the ignorant ')

living in the University of Oxford

in the year 1916.

X 2

3T2 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

THE DT(EAM IMPET{IAL

A SOUL supreme, seen once and not again,

Spoke in a little island of great men

When first our cabin 'd race drew ampler breath

And won the sea for wise Elizabeth, —

Spoke with a sound and swell of waters wide

To young adventure in a May of pride,

Told of our fathers' deeds in lines that ring

And showed their fame no scant or paltry thing.

Then as our warring, trading, reading race

Moved surely outward to imperial space,

Beyond the tropics to the ice-blink's hem

The mind of Shakespeare voyaged forth with them.

They bore his universe of tears and mirth

In battered sea-chests to the ends of earth,

So that in many a brown, mishandled tome,

— Compacted spirit of the ancient home, —

He who for man the human chart unfurled

Explored eight oceans and possessed the world.

Children of England's children, breed new-prized,
Building the greater State scarce realized,
Sons of her sons who, unreturning, yet
Looked o'er the sundering wave with long regret,
Grandsons on clear and golden coasts, how seems
The grey, ancestral isle beheld in dreams ?

* We have a vision of our fathers' land,'

4 The realm of England drawn by Shakespeare's hand,'

W. P. REEVES 313

* The lordly isle beyond the narrow sea

* Fronting the might of war light-heartedly ; '

* Her history his shining pageant set '

* With stately Tudor and Plantagenet ; '

* Her magic woods, dim Arden cool and green ; '
' The imperial votaress her maiden-queen '

* Throned in a kingdom brave and sweet and old/
'That is the England that we have and hold/

* His dream majestic borne to shores afar/

— ' Old England, kind in peace and fierce in war/

* The dream that lives where e'er his English rove '

* The land he left for lands unknown to love ! '

W. P. REEVES

(formerly High Commissioner for New Zealand).

3i4 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

IMMORTAL searcher of the hearts of men,
Who knewest, as none else, this human life,
Its dread ambitions and its passions rife ;

And limned it, godlike, with thy wizard pen,

In mighty numbers and divinest ken :

Here, in this anguished, war-embattled world,
Where Right 'gainst Wrong's grim panoply is hurled

In titan strife ; — we turn to thee agen.

For thine unfading genius stands for all

Our ancient Britain's greatness and her woe :
Yon old king's babblings o'er Cordelia's corse,
The Dane's despairings and the queen's remorse,
One pageantry sublime, through which do call
God's trumpets from His triumphs long ago.

WILFRED CAMPBELL.
OTTAWA, CANADA.

CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS 315

TO SHAK£SPEA1{E, 1916

WITH what white wrath must turn thy bones,
What stern amazement flame thy dust,

To feel so near this England's heart
The outrage of the assassin's thrust.

But surely, too, thou art consoled, —

Who knewest thy stalwart breed so well, —

To see us rise from sloth and go,

Plain and unbragging, through this hell.

And surely, too, thou art assured !

Hark how that grim and gathering beat
Draws upwards from the ends of earth —

The tramp, tramp of thy kindred's feet !

CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS.

316 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

UNSEEN in the great minster dome of time,

Whose shafts are centuries, its spangled roof

The vaulted universe, our Master sits,

And organ-voices like a far-off chime

Roll through the aisles of thought. The sunlight flits

From arch to arch, and, as he sits aloof,

Kings, heroes, priests, in concourse vast, sublime,

Whispers of love and cries from battle-field,

His wizard power breathes on the living air.

Warm faces gleam and pass, child, woman, man,

In the long multitude ; but he, concealed,

Our bard eludes us, vainly each face we scan,

It is not he ; his features are not there ;

But these being hid, his greatness is revealed.

FREDERICK GEORGE SCOTT

(Senior Chaplain, ist Canadian Division, B. E.F.).

ANANDA COOMARASWAMY 317

INTELLECTUAL

' To mark by some celebration the intellectual fraternity of mankind.'

ALIKE to those who grieve for Europe in her hour of civil war, and
to those who would offer tribute at the shrine of William Shakespeare,
it must appear appropriate and significant to publish tokens of the
brotherhood of man in art. For no one has been more distinguished
than William Shakespeare, in his profound appreciation of the common
humanity of an infinite variety of men.

Civilization must henceforth be human rather than local or national,
or it cannot exist. In a world of rapid communications it must be
founded in the common purposes and intuitions of humanity, since in
the absence of common motives there cannot be co-operation for agreed
ends. In the decades lately passed — in terms of * real duration ', now
so far behind us — it has, indeed, been fashionable to insist upon a sup
posed fundamental divergence of European and Asiatic character : and
those who held this view were not entirely illogical in thinking the wide
earth not wide enough for Europe and Asia to live side by side. For
artificial barriers are very frail : and if either white or yellow * peril '
were in truth an essentially inhuman force, then whichever party believed
itself to be the only human element must have desired the extermina
tion, or at least the complete subordination, of the other.

But the premises were false : the divergences of character are
superficial, and the deeper we penetrate the more we discover an identity
in the inner life of Europe and Asia. Can we, in fact, point to any
elemental experience or to any ultimate goal of man which is not equally
European and Asiatic ? Does one not see that these are the same for all
in all ages and continents ? Who that has breathed the pure mountain
air of the Upanishads, of Gautama, Sankara, Kabir, Rumi, and Laotse
(I mention so far Asiatic prophets only) can be alien to those who
have sat at the feet of Plato and Kant, Tauler, Behmen, Ruysbroeck,
Whitman, Nietzsche, and Blake ? The last named may well come to be
regarded as the supreme prophet of a post-industrial age, and it is

3i8 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

significant that one could not find in Asiatic scripture a more typically
Asiatic purpose than is revealed in his passionate will to be delivered
from the bondage of division :

I will go down to self-annihilation and eternal death,

Lest the Last Judgment come and find me un annihilate,

And I be seiz'd and giv'n into the hands of my own Selfhood.

But it is not only in Philosophy and Religion — Truth and Love — but
also in Art that Europe and Asia are united : and from this triple like
ness we may well infer that all men are alike in their divinity. Let us
only notice here the singular agreement of Eastern and Western theories
of Drama and Poetry, illustrating what has been said with special refer
ence to the hero of our celebration : for the work of Shakespeare is in
close accordance with Indian canons of Dramatic Art. ' I made this
Drama ', says the Creator, * to accord with the movement of the world,
whether at work or play, in peace or laughter, battle, lust, or slaughter
— yielding the fruit of righteousness to those who are followers of a
moral law, and pleasures to the followers of pleasure — informed with
the diverse moods of the soul — following the order of the world and all
its weal and woe. That which is not to be found herein is neither craft
nor wisdom, nor any art, nor is it Union. That shall be Drama which
affords a place of entertainment in the world, and a place of audience for
the Vedas, for philosophy and for the sequence of events/

And poetry is justified to man inasmuch as it yields the Fourfold
Fruit of Life — Virtue, Pleasure, Wealth, and Ultimate Salvation. The
Western reader may inquire, ' How Ultimate Salvation ? ' and the
answer can be found in Western scriptures :

Von Schonheit ward von jeher viel gesungen,
Wem sie erscheint, wird aus sich selbst entriickt.

That is the common answer of the East and West, and it is justified by
the disinterestedness of aesthetic contemplation, where the spirit is
momentarily freed from the entanglement of good and evil. We read,
for example, in the dramatic canon of Dhanamjaya :

' There is no theme, whether delightful or disgusting, cruel or
gracious, high or low, obscure or plain, of fact or fancy, that may not be
successfully employed to communicate aesthetic emotion.' We may
also note the words of Chuang Tau,

The mind of the Sage, being in repose, becomes the mirror of the universe,

and compare them with those of Whitman, who avows himself not the
poet of goodness only, but also the poet of wickedness.

ANANDA COOMARASWAMY 319

It is sometimes feared that the detachment of the Asiatic vision
tends towards inaction. If this be partly true at the present moment,
it arises from the fullness of the Asiatic experience, which still contrasts
so markedly with European youth. If the everlasting conflict between
order and chaos is for the present typically European, it is because
spiritual wars no less than physical must be fought by those who are of
military age. But the impetuosity of youth cannot completely com
pensate for the insight of age, and we must demand of a coming race
that men should act with European energy, and think with Asiatic calm
— the old ideal taught by Krishna upon the field of battle :

Indifferent to pleasure and pain, to gain and loss, to conquest and defeat, thus make
ready for the fight. . . As do the foolish, attached to works, so should the wise do, but
without attachment, seeking to establish order in the world.

Europe, too, in violent reaction from the anarchy of laissez-faire, is
conscious of a will to the establishment of order in the world. But
European progress has long remained in doubt, because of its lack of
orientation — * He only who knows whither he saileth, knows which is
a fair or a foul wind for him.' It is significant that the discovery of Asia
should coincide with the present hour of decision : for Asiatic thought
again affirms the unity and interdependence of all life, at the moment
when Europe begins to realize that the Fruit of Life is not easily attain
able in a society based upon division.

In honouring the genius of Shakespeare, then, we do not merely
offer homage to the memory of an individual, but are witnesses to the
intellectual fraternity of mankind : and it is that fraternity which assures
us of the possibility of co-operation in a common task, the creation of
a social order founded upon Union.

ANANDA COOMARASWAMY.

320

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

RABINDRANATH TAGORE.

CALCUTTA.

RABINDRANATH TAGORE 321

SHAI^ESPEAT^E

WHEN by the far-away sea your fiery disk appeared from behind the
unseen, O poet, O Sun, England's horizon felt you near her breast, and
took you to be her own.

She kissed your forehead, caught you in the arms of her forest
branches, hid you behind her mist-mantle and watched you in the green
sward where fairies love to play among meadow flowers.

A few early birds sang your hymn of praise while the rest of the
woodland choir were asleep.

Then at the silent beckoning of the Eternal you rose higher and
higher till you reached the mid-sky, making all quartersiof heaven
your own.

Therefore at this moment, after the end of centuries, the palm
groves by the Indian sea raise their tremulous branches to the sky
murmuring your praise.

RABINDRANATH TAGORE.

CALCUTTA.

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

LAHORE.

MOHAMMED IGVAL

URDU TRIBUTE TRANSLATED 323

TO

A TRIBUTE FROM THE EAST

I

THE river's silent flow

Mirrors the glory of the rosy dawn ;

The sunset-silence in the golden glow

Mirrors the message of the evening song ;

The burgeoning leaf, after winter's sleep,

Mirrors the rosy rapture of spring ;

The bridal-palanquin of crystal cup

Reflects the virgin beauty of red wine ;

The rivers of endless Beauty

Mirror the myriad coloured light of Truth ;

The great deeps of human heart

Mirror the radiance from Beauty's Realm ;

And thy enchanted verse in liquid notes

Mirrors the great deep of human heart !

II

Under the flashing sunbeams of thy thought,
Nature herself has found herself revealed
In perfect glory in thy golden song ;
The conscious mistress of her treasured wealth !
The eager eye in search of thy image
Found thee enshrined within a veil of light,
Like mighty monarch of night and day,
That bathed in glory, seeing is not seen.
Hid from the world's eye thou hast beheld
The intricate workings of her inmost soul !
The jealous mistress of deep mysteries
Never again will suffer herself to bear
A seer like thee who took her by surprise,
Unveiled in starlight and mellow moon.

SARDAR JOGUNDRA SINGH,

324

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

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THE <BUT(MESE BUDDHISTS

I

Taik lumtkye-na
Pyam obha phyan
Kabya pandeik
Gun yaung pheik lyak
Sheik-ca-plya
Ml dvan sa sas
Chaya phve pyu
Glta mhu dvaft
Ce-nu se-gya
Chan-khyan ba saw
Bhasa Buddha
Yu vada nhan

o

Tu mhya that shi
Sabho mi ghe
Abhidhamma
Nak-ne zva go
Le-la kyes-zui
Gun athus phya°-
Kyl-nu2 nha-lumS
Paik yu kyum8 yve
Shvan pyums ba bhi
GvamS chi thi 59
Piti pharana
Pyam nhaip phya si

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S. Z. AUNG

325

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II

Paik kums se-gya
Gun langa phyan
Kabya phve mhat
Mhan pya dat sag
Paramat sabho
Chat-chat ho gyaung
Shan co mu-nin
Marajin i

Tauk thin yaung va
Sasana si
Shi kya pva§ lit
Ye tvak cit mu
A-nhit nhit thaung
Chaung sa8 cvang paw

o

NaS ya kyaw Us

Ahaw-vata

Ani o ya lyak

Tauk pa thvans pyaung

Khu taing aung Ihyan

Ayaung lak phi

Amye shi i

Asi sakse

Ma-sve a mat a

I kabya si

- KyamS la mya8 16 afihvan soS

326 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

III

Saik thumJ ve-cha
Khyini khyim nyS. lyak
Sankhya tvak cit
A-nhit sumg ya
She? Ivan kh5 ga
Pafifia yan slg
Yv& daingSpyl? yve
Nan gylg puggo

noc^jo^coos Kabya ch6 sag

Tho Sheik-ca-pya
Myat chaya ag

0000)0 (f^g Bhasa Buddha

Cve yu gya sag
Myan-ma nv6 yo?
Myan lu my6s d6
Chaung ky6g a-tvak
Lvan a: tak vye
Ma-pyak sim: khy6k
A-kyvan-nok si
Lak-6k khyl naw
Shi pu-jaw i
Nu-maw-dana
I puja si

— Nyams ba la§ s£ amvan so§

S. Z. AUNG 327

TRANSLATION

I

WHEN I carefully studied the poems of the illustrious dramatic poet
Shakespeare, whose widespread fame is known all the world over, it was the
Buddhistic sentiments in them that appealed to me most, and I was greatly
rejoiced hi the study of our deep philosophy, inasmuch as they added to the
profound interest I felt in the subject.

II

Because of the ultimate truth, embodied in sublime poetic diction, the
splendid and wonderful religion of that Sage-Conqueror has lasted to this
day, with untarnished lustre after five-and-twenty centuries, as a standing
witness to the immortality of Shakespeare, who is a guide unto posterity,
because he conforms to our philosophy.

Ill

May this my tribute of appreciation, on behalf of Burmese Buddhists, to
Shakespeare's great mind, which dwelt on lofty thoughts, constituting a
permanent record of humanity three centuries ago, serve as a standard for
future generations.

S. Z. AUNG.

NOTES

(a) Lyric.

'Ratu' is a Burmese lyric which was originally 'sung' but not ' made '.
Hence it was generally sung hi a single verse known to this date as Ekabaik
(one verse), but seldom in more than three verses called Paikson (complete
verses) except hi the transitional period to the epic, when this limit was ex
ceeded. When sung in two verses the piece is designated Aphyigan (lit., left
to be completed).

Y 2

328 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

(b) Metrical feet.

Each verse contains the same number of feet, usually of four syllables
each, except the last, which is generally made up of seven syllables. When
there are more than four syllables in a foot which is not final, two short syllables
are treated as one. In the best verses the initial and final feet are alike
throughout.

(c) Rhyme.

As a rule the fourth syllable of a foot rhymes with the third of the next
and the second or first of the third. But sometimes the fourth syllable of
a preceding foot may rhyme with the second or even the first of the next
foot immediately following.

Pronunciation of the Roman Transcript.

The transliteration is phonetic,
a, a, i, I, u, u, o as in Pali (or Italian) ;
e, e, as in French ;
6 as oh in English ;
au as ow in cow ;

aw as aw in saw (prolonged, somewhat like o in or) ;
ai as j in isle, mile, tide ;

a dot subscribed to a vowel, or a final consonant following a vowel, checks the tone of
the vowel ;

the colon mark indicates a grave accent, e.g. o : as o in go ;

the nasals n and n are as in Pali (approx. ng and ny), the nasal n being retained as n ;

so also c, ch, th (= ch, cch, t-h).
sh as in English she ;
s as th in English thin ;
s" as th in the or they ;
v as w in English ;
an as in in English ;

6k as oak in English, but with k sound somewhat mute ;
eik as fin tick, but with k sound somewhat mute ;
ak is more like et in let, with / sound somewhat mute ;
it as in English, with / sound somewhat mute.

MAUNG TIN

329

HUMAN nature is the same all the world over, and every human
being who reads Shakespeare must be greatly impressed by the wonder
ful power displayed by the poet in touching the chords of human
feeling, and by the comprehensiveness of his study of mankind. The
impression must, of course, vary according to the individual estimate
each person makes of Shakespeare's works. Different nations also will
be differently impressed. To the Burman Shakespeare appeals most
from the religious point of view. The Burman is pre-eminently a reli
gious person ; he has been cultured in Buddhist ethics and philosophy
ever since the fifth century A. D., the traditional date when Buddhism was
introduced into Burma. The evidence of this religious spirit of the nation
is best seen in the literature, the prevailing tone of which is religious,
every one being constantly exhorted to do the utmost amount of good
while in this world. In fact, in Burma literature is religion and religion
is literature. Now, the peculiar thing about Shakespeare is that he very
often comes to the Burman Buddhist as a relief — somewhat like the
feeling that one experiences at the conclusion of an oppressively long
sermon, when one is glad to get away to the open air and indulge in
some friendly chat. And yet Shakespearian literature manages to teach
the same high standard of ethics as the Buddhist, without a distinct
ethical tendency. In spite of his vigorous appreciation of the world,
Shakespeare shakes hands with the Buddha, in his utter renunciation
of the world.

What Shakespeare has been to Burma is very little compared with
what he will be. Already some of his plays have been translated into
Burmese, and made accessible to those who are unable to enjoy the original.
And although these first attempts at presenting Shakespeare in Burmese
garb are clumsy enough, owing to the many difficulties encountered —
the Burmese language is radically different from the English — there
is every reason to believe that in the near future Shakespeare will make
an attractive figure on the Burmese stage. It will then mark an epoch-

310 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

jj

making change in the history of Burmese literature, as vital as has been
the introduction of Buddhism. The Burmese mind is plastic, and has
produced a vast literature in testimony of its Buddhist culture. At
present it is passing through a transitional stage, brought about by the
advent of the English, and is already producing novels in Burmese,
which, so far as psychological import goes, show a distinct indebtedness
to English culture. It was in 1912 that Julius Caesar was first staged by
the students of the Rangoon College, with considerable success ; and
who can tell what that performance means to Burma ?

MAUNG TIN.

RANGOON COLLEGE, RANGOON,
BURMA.

MOHAMMED HAFIZ IBRAHIM 33 1

TO THE MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEAT(E

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332 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

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WALIY AD-DIN YEYEN

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334 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

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WALIY AD-DIN YEYEN.

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE 335

I

SUMMARY OF THE POEM
BY MOHAMMED HAFIZ IBRAHIM

AFTER two lines of salutation, the poet wishes that Shakespeare could rise to see
how the present state of the world agrees with the world as it is described in his dramas.
Neither civilization nor learning has affected it in the manner hoped. If the world were
just to Shakespeare's memory, there would be a general truce on his commemoration day.
He then briefly describes Macbeth, Shy lock, Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, characters whose
freshness remains through the ages, like the art of the Pharaonic sanctuaries. Shakespeare
is unapproached by his successors, unrivalled by his predecessors. He looks down on
all from the sky of his imagination, and flies whither the fancy cannot venture. For a time
his merits were ignored, then they were recognized, and his forgiveness was implored.
Similarly, if justice were done to the Oriental authors, there would be feasts in their
honour in both East and West. Say to the men of the Thames, when the gathering in
Shakespeare's honour is listening to prose and verse : However great your pride in
your mighty fleet^ your pride in the unique bard is yet greater.

II

SUMMARY OF THE POEM
BY WALIY AD-DIN YEYEN

THE poet briefly describes the works of Homer, Imruul-Kais, Dante, Victor Hugo,
and Goethe, adding that the last has been disgraced by his compatriots. Above all these
he sets Shakespeare, whose characters all reappear in those of our own day. He briefly
alludes to the troubles of the present time, with an imprecation on Krupp, and a blessing
on Shakespeare for Romeo and Juliet.

336

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

SOUTH <AFF(lCAWiS HOMAGE

Go fitlhela ka 1896 ke sa le lekaoana, ke
ne ke itsetse Shakespeare mo lotlatlaneng.
Ka ngoaga oo ka okoa ke dipolelo tsa ko-
ranta ea Teemane ka ea go bona Makgooa
mo Theatereng ea Kimberley a tshameka
polelo eaga Hamkty e e mo bukeng ngoe
ea gagoe. Motshameko o oa ntlhotlheletsa
go tlhotlhomisa dikoalo tsa gagoe. Ko ga
rona mafoko a santse a boleloa ka mo-
lomo ka maitisho ; ere re tlotla ka maa-
banyane ke fitlhele ke ana go feta balekane
baaka, ka ke ne ke male mocoedi o o sa
kgaleng mo bontsintsing joa buka tsaga
Tsikinya-Chaka.

Pele-pele ke badile polelo ea Segoaba sa
Venice, ka fitlhela batho ba ba boleloang
ke buka eo ba choana thata le batshedi ba
ba itsegeng. Ga bo go nale dimokolara
dingoe ko Teemaneng, ka tla ka utloa, ke
se na go bolela mafoko a buka eo, tsala
ngoe eaka e mpotsa gore, ke ofe oa dimo
kolara tseo, eo Shakespeare o mmitsang
Shy lock. Moo gotlhe ga ira gore ke nyo-
reloe dikoalo tsaga Tsikinya-Chaka. Erile
ke ntse ke di balela pele ka fitlhela maele
ale mantsi, a bachomi ba kgabisang puo
ka one — a ke ne ke itlhoma ele diane tsa
Sekgooa — ese diane, ele dinopolo tsa ma-
bolelo aga Shakespeare.

Erile ke bala polelo eaga Cymbeline ka

I had but a vague idea of Shake
speare until about 1896 when, at
the age of 18, I was attracted by
the Press remarks in the Kimberley
paper, and went to see Hamlet in
the Kimberley Theatre. The per
formance made me curious to know
more about Shakespeare and his
works. Intelligence in Africa is
still carried from mouth to mouth
by means of conversations after
working hours, and, reading a
number of Shakespeare's works,
I always had a fresh story to tell.

I first read The Merchantof Venice.

The characters were so realistic
that I was asked more than once to
which of certain speculators, then
operating round Kimberley, Shake
speare referred as Shylock.

All this gave me an appetite for
more Shakespeare, and I found that
many of the current quotations used
by educated natives to embellish
their speeches, which I had always
taken for English proverbs, were
culled from Shakespeare's works.

While reading Cymbeline, I met

A SOUTH AFRICAN'S HOMAGE

337

rakana le kgarebe e gompieno eleng 'ma-
bana baa ka. Eare ka ke ne ke ese ke
itse segagabo — Setebele saga 'Ma-Magana
Tshegana — jaaka jaanong ; lefa ene a ne a
itse segaecho — Secoana saga Tau a Mo-
coala Tshega — ka bo ke belaela gore a jaana
nka mo senolela boteng oa maikutlo aaka
ka shone : ke fa re tla dumalana go buisana
ka loleme loa barutegi, ebong Senyesemane
shoora Tsikinya-Chaka, se ka nako eo ene
ele shone puo ea Goromente oa rona.
Khane tse re ne re di koalalana ka metlha
di ne dile kana ka tsela ea Kgalagadi ;
gonne ene eare ke simolotse ka gore ke
bolela maikutlo a pelo eame, ke fitlhele ke
shoeditse ka go 'melegololela bojotlhe joa
mooa oa me. Fa ele ka manyama a puo
le go kanolola dikakanyo tsa dilo tse di sa
bonoeng phenyo ea mekoalo eaka e ne e
lekalekana fela le ea mosadi oaka. Ke se
se tlhomameng gore megopolo ea rona e
ne e ntse logedioa ke dikoma tsaga Tsi
kinya-Chaka.

Koalo longoe loa gagoe lo re lo badileng
ka nako eo ke phereano ea bo Romeo le
Julieta. Go leredioa ngoetsi eo o buang
puo e e thoantshang loleme. Jaaka Seku-
dukama, bagaecho ba ne ba go ila sefefehu ;
bagagabo le bone fela jalo, ba ila mogoe eo
o puo e sa tlalang, e sa thoantsheng loleme.
Lefagontsejalo ra se ka ra shoetsa ka go
shoela ko diphupung jaka bo Romeo le
kgarebe ea gagoe ; ebile baga rona gom
pieno ba itumelela bana ba rona, dikoko-
mana tsa madi a a pekanyeng, ba ba puo
pedi ko loapeng le ko Khooeng.

Mo tshimologong ea 'moeleoele ono —
ke gore ka 1901 — ka simolola tiro ea diko-
ranta ; ere fa ke koala dikgang tsa kago,
tsa musho, le tsa ditlhabano ke di none ka

the girl who afterwards became
my wife. I was not then as well
acquainted with her language — the
Xosa— as I am now ; and although
she had a better grip of mine — the
Sechuana — I was doubtful whether
I could make her understand my
innermost feelings in it, so in com
ing to an understanding we both
used the language of educated peo
ple — the language which Shake
speare wrote — which happened to
be the only official language of our
country at the time.

Some of the daily epistles were
rather lengthy, for I usually started
with the bare intention of express
ing the affections of my heart but
generally finished up by completely
unburdening my soul. For com
mand of language and giving
expression to abstract ideas, the
success of my efforts was second
only to that of my wife's, and it is
easy to divine that Shakespeare's
poems fed our thoughts.

It may be depended upon that we
both read Romeo and Juliet.

My people resented the idea of my
marrying a girl who spoke a lan
guage which, like the Hottentot
language, had clicks in it ; while
her people likewise abominated the
idea of giving their daughter in
marriage to a fellow who spoke a
language so imperfect as to be with
out any clicks. But the civilized
laws of Cape Colony saved us from
a double tragedy in a cemetery, and
our erstwhile objecting relatives
have lived to award their benedic
tion to the growth of our Chuana-
M'Bo family which is bilingual both
in the vernaculars and in European
languages.

In the beginning of this century
I became a journalist, and when
called on to comment on things

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

mabolelo aga Shakespeare. Ka 1910, jaka
Mochochonono o phakaletse mo mago di-
mong, King Edward VII le Kgosi dile pedi
tsa Becoana — bo Sebele le Bathoeng — tsaa
shoa. Ka tlhadia kitsisho tsa dincho tsa
bone ka tsela tsaga Shakespeare tse di-
reng :

Eare fa dikhutsana dii sboa

Re se ke re bone naledi tse di megatla;

Motlhango go shoang dikgosi

Go tuka le magodimo ka osi.

Ereka Becoana ele ditlapela tsa tlholego,
ebile ba rata go maitisho, mabolelo a a
ntseng jalo a atisa go ba gapa dipelo. Go
tloga fong, eare ke phakeletse ko Kgosing
ko Goo Ra-Tshi di, morenana mongoe a
mpotsa leina ja Khooe eo itseng gobua eo.
Kgosana ngoe ea mochomi eabo ele fa
kgotla, ea itlhaganela ea nkarabela ; eare :
William Tsikinya-Chaka. Lefa toloko di
se ke di dumalana ka metlha, mo pheto-
long ea leina je re kare kgosana e tantse
jaka kama gonne bontsi joa batho ba ba
umakoang mo mabolelong aga Shakespeare
bo shule ka chaka.

A jaana go ithata bo morafe game gase
gone go nthatisang dibuka tsaga Tsikinya-
Chaka. Nka rarabolola poco e ka sechoan-
cho sa mothale o mongoe se se mphero-
sang sebete fela jaka Tsikinya-Chaka a
nkgatlha.

Nkile ka ea go bona motshameko oa
cinematograph (dichoancho tse di tsa-
maeang), oa dipogo tsa Morena. Ka
fitlhela batho botlhe ko papolong ea Mo
rena ele dichoancho tsa Makgooa. Bo
Pilato, Baperisita — le Simone oa Kireneo
tota — botlhe-lele ele Makgooa. Mocoana
o na ale esi fela mo loferetlhong loo, ene

social, political, or military, I always
found inspiration in one or other
of Shakespeare's sayings. For
instance, in 1910, when Halley's
Comet illumined the Southern
skies, King Edward VII and two
great Bechuana Chiefs — Sebele and
Bathoeng — died. I commenced
each obituary with Shakespeare's
quotation :

When beggars die there are no

comets seen ;
The heavens themselves blaze

forth the death of princes.

Besides being natural story-tellers,
the Bechuana are good listeners,
and legendary stories seldom fail
to impress them. Thus, one morn
ing, I visited the Chiefs court at
Mafeking and was asked for the
name of ' the white man who spoke
so well'. An educated Chieftain
promptly replied for me ; he said :
William Tsikinya-Chaka (William
Shake-the-Sword). The transla
tion, though perhaps more free
than literal, is happy in its way
considering how many of Shake
speare's characters met their death.
Tsikinya - Chaka became noted
among some of my readers as a
reliable white oracle.

It is just possible that selfish patriot
ism is at the bottom of my admira
tion for Shakespeare. To illustrate
my meaning let me take a case
showing how feelings of an opposite
kind were roused in me.

I once went to see a cinematograph
show of the Crucifixion. All the
characters in the play, including
Pilate, the Priests, and Simon of
Cyrene, were white men. Accord
ing to the pictures, the only black
man in the mob was Judas Iscariot.

A SOUTH AFRICAN'S HOMAGE

339

ele Jutase. Esale jalo ke tlhoboga maaka
a dibaesekopo, le gompieno mono London
ke bonye ngoe ea macodimacoke e shupa
maatlametlo a Makgooa e a bapisa le ko-
keco ea boboko e e makgapha ea boatla joa
Bancho.

Koalo tsag-a Tsikinya-Chaka di nkgatlha
ka gobo di shupa fa maatlametlo le bonatla
(jaaka boatla le bogatlapa) di sa tlhaole
'mala.

I have since become suspicious of
the veracity of the cinema and
acquired a scepticism which is not
diminished by a gorgeous one now
exhibited in London which shows,
side by side with the nobility of
the white race, a highly coloured
exaggeration of the depravity of
the blacks.

Shakespeare's dramas, on the other
hand, show that nobility and valour,
like depravity and cowardice, are
not the monopoly of any colour.

Ke nyaga dile 300 jaanong Tsikinya-
Chaka a shule, 'me ekete o na a tlhalo-
ganya maitseo a batho ba gompieno thata.
Kafa mabolelo a gagoe e lolameng ka teng
(lefa gompieno re koalalana le lefatshe
jotlhe ka bonako joa logadima, ebile re
tedieaganya ka makoloi a a ikgarametsang)
ekete re santse re tlhaela manontlhotlho a
gagoe.

Re santse re le mo pakeng tsa borathana
joa dikoalo tsa Afrika. Gola tlhe ea kre fa
di golela pele bakoadi le batoloki ba gati-
setsa Bancho mabolelo mangoe aga Tsi
kinya-Chaka. Ke buisioa ke go bo ke
fitlhela ekete ekare fa re lateletse ra fitlhela
a theiloe mo metheong e e dumalanang le
oa maele mangoe a Afrika.

Shakespeare lived over 300 years
ago, but he appears to have had a
keen grasp of human character. His
description of things seems so in
wardly correct that (in spite of our
rapid means of communication and
facilities for travelling) we of the
present age have not yet equalled
his acumen.

It is to be hoped that with the
maturity of African literature, now
still in its infancy, writers and trans
lators will consider the matter of
giving to Africans the benefit of
some at least of Shakespeare's
works. That this could be done
is suggested by the probability that
some of the stories on which his
dramas are based find equivalents
in African folk-lore.

34°

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

HEAT^T OF THE T(ACE

NOT in marble or bronze, the sum of thy lineaments ;
Not in colour or line that painter or graver may trace.
Out of the kingdom of vision, gleaming, transcendent, immortal,
Issue thy creatures and step into vesture of time and place —
Each with passion and pulse of thy heart ; but, passing the portal,

Each in likeness of us. And listening, wondering,
Lo, from the lips of each we gather a thought of thy Face !

Nature walleth her womb with wreckage of history :
Touch, O Poet, thy lyre, and heart-beats frozen in stone
Tremble to life once more — to the towers of pain and of pity —

Build themselves into thee, thy ramparts of rapture and moan,
Cry with a human voice from the passioning walls of thy city —

Hamlets, Richards, Cordelias, prisoned, oblivious,
Dateless minions of death, till summoned by thee alone.

Fortune maketh of men pipes for her fingering ;
Thou hast made of thine England music of nobler employ :
Men whose souls are their own ; whose breastplate, honour untainted ;
Of promise precise, God-fearing, abhorring the dreams that destroy —
The Moloch of Force ensky'd, the ape of Necessity sainted ; —

To country and freedom true ; merciful, generous,
Valiant to merit in Fate the heart 's-ease mortals enjoy.

Shaper, thou, of the tongue ! Under the Pleiades,
Under the Southern Cross, under the Boreal Crown,
Where there 's a mother's lap and a little one seeking a story,

Where there 's a teacher or parson, or player come to the town —
Mage of the opaline phrase, meteoric, dissolving in glory,
Splendid lord of the word predestined, immutable —
Children are learning thy English and handing the heritage down.

CHARLES MILLS GAYLEY 341

Who but opens thy book : odorous memories
Breathe of the dear, dear land, sceptred and set in the sea.
Her primrose pale, her sweet o' the year, have savour and semblance

For Perditas woo'd in the tropics and Florizels tutored by thee.
The rue of her sea- walled garden, the rosemary, wake to remembrance

Where furrowed exiles from home, wintered with pilgriming,
Yearn for the white-faced shores, and turn thy page on the knee.

No philosopher, thou : best of philosophers !
Blood and judgement commingled are masters of self-control.
Poet of common sense, reality, weeping, and laughter :
Not in the caverns of Time, not in the tides that roll
On the high shore of this world, not in the dim hereafter —

In reason and sorrow, the hope ; in mercy, the mystery :
By selling hours of dross we enrich the moment of soul.

Poet, thou, of the Blood : of states and of nations
Passing thy utmost dream, in the uttermost corners of space !
Poet, thou, of my countrymen — born to the speech, O Brother,

Born to the law and freedom, proud of the old embrace,
Born of the Mayflower, born of Virginia — born of the Mother !

Poet, thou of the Mother ! the blood of America,
Turning in tribute to thee, revisits the Heart of the Race.

CHARLES MILLS GAYLEY.

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA.

342 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

THE HOMAGE OF THE SHA%SPE1(E SOCIETY
OF PHILADELPHIA

Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story,
That I may prompt them. — Henry V, prol., Act V.

THOSE visitors to Stratford-on-Avon who have wisely arranged
that their sojourn covers the 23rd of April are not likely soon to forget
one distinguishing feature of the ceremonies whereby that day is marked.
Not the streets and lanes gay with garlands and flags ; not the impressive
yet simple service in the church ; but the sight of the long procession
formed of young and old — men, women, children — all bearing flowers,
either in bunches or in single blooms, and all, in a spirit of homage and
reverence, with but one intent — from the small boy with his bunch of
primroses or cowslips plucked in the lovely Warwickshire lanes, to the
dignified Mayor and Town Council with their elaborate wreaths of
laurel. With one intent : that of paying tribute to the memory of
Shakespeare by placing some offering upon his grave, beneath that
monument in Trinity Church. Slowly the throng files past, each
depositing their weedy trophies upon that shrine, until, where before
there were but bare grey stones, there is now a veritable mound of
violets, roses, daffodils, and green grasses. Fortunate ones ! they may
thus give an outward and tangible expression of what they feel. But
what of us, less fortunate ones ? We of the New World, who own
a common heritage in Shakespeare by right of birth and language.
Our thoughts turn naturally towards that common goal, even as the
face of the Moslem turns towards Mecca. From the four corners of
the earth they come to kiss this shrine, and that procession slowly
passing through the streets of Stratford is typical of all who wish to pay
homage to Shakespeare in this year which marks the three hundredth
anniversary of his death. May we not, each one, bring what offering
is in our power ? Happy he, indeed, whose tribute shall prove to be
made of immortelles, but happy also, he whose gift shines brightly
if only for that one day. These reverent gifts honour the givers more
than the recipient. Could any one hope to add one leaf to the laurels
on Shakespeare's brow ? We cannot make the service greater than the

HORACE HOWARD FURNESS 343

god. Yet, granting this, there is a certain distinctive mark of honour
upon this tribute which comes from America. It is a record of over
half a century's devotion to the reading and careful study of Shakespeare's
Comedies, Histories, and Tragedies ; the homage paid by the Shakspere
Society of Philadelphia. (This spelling of the name was adopted by the
Society in its corporate title, and has therefore been strictly preserved.)

The origin of the Society is of the simplest. In the year 1852 four
young men, then studying for the bar, sought a means of relaxation
from their prosaic studies, and therefore decided to meet each week, for
certain hours in the evening, with no purpose other than to read and
study the plays of Shakespeare. The prime mover and chief of this
small coterie was Asa Israel Fish, a man of wide culture, and a lover of
both classic and English poetry. He had the happy faculty of gathering
about him men of kindred tastes, and of causing them to give of their
best ; he was thus eminently fitted for the leadership of this band of
brothers, these happy few. In those early days the members spoke
of themselves as the * Shakspere Apostles ', not with any irreverent idea,
but rather in imitation of the distinguished English Club of Apostles,
to which frequent reference is made in Bristed's Five Years in an English
University, and as their number increased it soon became a custom to
gather at a commemoration dinner, on a date usually towards the end
of December. Six years after the inception of the Society the number
of members had grown to seventeen, and it was then agreed that, accor
dingly, a regular organization with a more systematic course of study
was advisable. Although from the beginning Fish had nominally been
the head, yet now he was duly elected as the new organization's Dean,
which office he held until his death in 1879.

The Society, as such, was now fairly started, and its records were,
for the first time, reduced to writing, but there was no thought of a
series of publications as had been the aim of other literary societies,
and in this respect the Shakspere Society of Philadelphia is in a class
of its own. Contributions by members have from time to time been
printed, but for private circulation only.

Thus regularly organized, the Society grew and flourished, and the
nucleus of a library, for use during the meetings, was soon developed.
Under the personal supervision of the Dean the collection grew to
nearly six hundred volumes, and might in time have grown to valuable
dimensions had it not been unfortunately lost to the Society by the
death of its chief custodian. The volumes were set apart in Mr. Fish's
library, but were unrecognized as the property of others when his own
books were sold by his executors. A set of Boswell's Malone, Staunton's

Z 2

344 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

facsimile of the Folio, and an imperfect set of the Ashbee Quarto fac
similes were saved, since they had been at the Society's rooms ; but,
lacking a complete list of the other volumes in the Dean's charge, the
other books could not be reclaimed. But this is anticipating, and we
must return to the earlier annals, although it is quite unnecessary to
detail the work of the Society year by year. The plays were read and
studied, with discussion and explanation, the Dean presiding and
directing the flow of reason at the bi-weekly meetings, and the minutes
duly chronicle the growing popularity of these gatherings followed
by a mild refection and the elaborate fare provided at their annual
commemoration dinners, still held towards the end of December.
The year 1861 will be ever held as memorable in the history of our
country, and no less prominent, though for far different reasons, must
this year be held in the history of the Shakspere Society, for on March 12,
1 86 1, it received its charter and became a corporate body. Be it noted
in passing that our Society thus antedates by three years the Deutsche
Shakespeare- Gesellschaft, which was founded in 1864 in commemora
tion of the three-hundredth anniversary of Shakespeare's birth.

A clause in this charter provides that an annual meeting be held
on the 23rd of April for the election of officers and the transaction of
business. This it was which caused a change from one of the old esta
blished customs wherein the commemoration dinner, heretofore held
in December, was transferred to follow the annual meeting in April,
and it has thus continued ever since. The propriety of such a change
had long been recognized, but was overruled by the Dean, who feared
that the spring months would never furnish dishes sufficiently delectable
for a function so important. It is, however, recorded that he now
yielded, and this excellent change was made chiefly on the suggestion
of Horace Howard Furness, who was then Secretary of the Society.

During those troublous years of the civil war the members realized
the impropriety of an appearance, even, of festivity, and therefore the
annual dinners were discontinued, although their bi-weekly meetings —
mainly composed of those members whose years made them ineligible
for service — were still held in a desultory fashion.

Richard L. Ashhurst was a member at this time — he became Vice-
Dean later — and wrote a short history of the Society ; therein he presents
the following graphic description of one of those meetings :

The members were seated on both sides of the long table, at the head of which the
Dean was seated. Which of us can forget the affectionate glance over his spectacles as we
entered, half-reproachful if some were late ? Each member had before him one or more

HORACE HOWARD FURNESS

345

editions of the play. In front of the Dean stood a row of dictionaries and books of
reference, Mrs. Clarke's Concordance, Sidney Walker, &c. We had not then the invaluable
Schmidt. . . . Nothing that I remember was more marked in its fruitfulness to us younger
members than discussions between Professor Short and Dr. Krauth, the tendency of the
mind of the former being rather to a rigid or literal exegesis, while with the other the
poetic judgement and sympathetic insight had ever sway. While over all the debates our
dear Dean presided with his solemn courtesy, seeming often to be swayed himself backward
and forward with the drift of the argument.

With but a very slight change this may be taken as typical of meetings
even down to the present day. The historian also notes that in these
later times the study is much more discursive and exhaustive than in
the earlier, and that consequently longer extracts of the winter's study
were covered at each session. It was formerly quite usual to read an
entire Act in one evening ; but now this would be decidedly the excep
tion, a hundred lines being the ordinary amount.

The year 1864 1S an ever-memorable one to all Shakespearians :
it may be called the zenith to the nadir of the present year, and the
Society showed its recognition of an occasion so important by resuming
its annual dinner on the 23rd of April. This season was also one of
peculiar productiveness, inasmuch as the Notes on The Tempest, the
winter's study, contributed by various members, were not only carefully
reduced to writing, as heretofore, but also elaborately printed. This
was a distinct innovation, and even yet forms the most permanent
memorial of the work of the Shakspere Society. The edition was
strictly limited ; copies are now esteemed rarities, and seldom, if ever,
have been offered for sale.

In the spring of 1865 the whole nation was contracted in one brow
of woe over the assassination of the President, and the Society, again
feeling that the annual festivity would be unbefitting, omitted it.

It is a fact known to but a few, that to the studies and work of the
Shakspere Society may be directly traced the inception of the new
Variorum Edition of Shakespeare. During the season of 1866-7 tne
play read in the winter's study was Romeo and Juliet, and it was noticed
by Horace Howard Furness that frequently a whole evening's work of
discussion and comment on the variations of the texts had been antici
pated in the notes of those commentators subsequent to the Variorum
of 1821, which edition, heretofore, had formed the groundwork for the
Society's discussion. In that edition the comments of all former editors
are given, but the textual notes are sadly deficient. In the monumental
Cambridge edition of Clark and Wright the textual notes are exhaustive
and complete, but the commentary consists of a few explanatory notes

346 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

at the end of each play ; this is, however, no deficiency — the avowed
purpose of the Cambridge editors was but to furnish a text based
mainly upon that of existing quartos. The need of an edition which
should combine the features of both these editions on a single page was
at once recognized, and the work of gathering and classifying the notes
was undertaken by the Secretary, primarily as an aid to the work of
the Society. Its value to other students was at once apparent, since it
practically formed a continuation of the Variorum of 1821, and with the
stimulus of their encouragement the editor began preparing his manu
script for the press . The volume, Romeo and Juliet, was published in 1 87 1 ,
two years after its inception, and is dedicated to the Shakspere Society.

It is needless here to speak of the character of that volume, or of
those which followed and now form a lasting memorial of that most able
editor. Their worth is written in their own pages, and the Shakspere
Society may well feel proud that so great a flood has flowed from so
clear a source.

The year 1869 also marks the establishment of the Society upon
a firmer foundation, and the annual dinners have been held with
scarcely an interruption since that time. A distinctive feature of these
dinners must be mentioned : as far back as 1856 the commemoration
dinner was marked by an elaborate bill of fare, whereon each dish was
characterized by a quotation. The ingenuity of the members was taxed
even to the uttermost to provide a line or passage descriptive of the
various wines and edibles, and there was no restriction as to choice
so long as it was made from one of the plays or poems of Shakespeare.
In 1869 the winter's study was Richard //, and it was then decided that
for the bill of fare all the quotations should be from this play only ; the
result was most successful, and from that time this rule in regard to
the bills has been strictly followed. In 1879 tne death of Asa Israel Fish
deprived the Society of one who had so ably piloted it through times of
stress into those of quiet, and his loss was deeply mourned. He was
succeeded as Dean by Horace Howard Furness, which office was held
by him until his death in 1912, and he was then succeeded by the present
writer.

These short and simple annals may well close here ; they are a
record of our loving homage to Shakespeare. This then be our tribute
which, in thought, we reverently place before that glowing shrine
towards which all thoughts this year are turning.

HORACE HOWARD FURNESS, JR.

CLAYTON HAMILTON 347

THE TAT(ADOX OF S

THERE is a fame that is founded on the verdict of the many ; there
is a fame that is founded on the verdict of the few : and, especially in
the domain of art, it is seldom that the two verdicts coincide, to make
the vote unanimous.

In all the arts except the drama, the verdict of the few is immeasur
ably more important than the verdict of the many. Artistic taste
requires cultivation ; the majority of people are uncultivated ; therefore
the taste of the majority is very likely to be wrong. The fame of Milton
is secure ; but it is based upon the verdict of a very small minority.
If, by a thorough census of the English-speaking world, we should
determine exactly the number of people who have read Paradise Lost
from the outset to the end, not for any fancied sense of duty but for sheer
aesthetic and intelligent delight, we should doubtless be appalled by
the paucity of the enumeration. Why, in the face of such neglect, does
the fame of Milton's epic still endure ? Why is the verdict of the culti
vated few more powerful than that of the uncultivated many ? It is
because, in the long leisure of the centuries, the vote of the minority is
repeated generation after generation and acquires emphasis by repeti
tion. There have always been a few who knew that Paradise Lost
is a great poem ; there are now a few who know it ; there will always
be a few who know it : and, after many centuries, the host accumulated
from this imperishable succession of minorities will outnumber the
majority of any single generation. On the other hand, the immediate
verdict of the multitude in favour of such a poem as Lucille will
ultimately fail, because it cannot repeat itself perpetually, through
generation after generation. Popularity is fleeting, because the popu
lace is fickle. At the present time, the paintings of Sir John Everett
Millais are more generally enjoyed than the paintings of Whistler ; but,
when the toll of all the centuries comes ultimately to be counted, the
few who have always appreciated Whistler will show themselves more
mighty than the many who at one time preferred his more popular
contemporary. It is in this way that the few outvote the many,

348 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

concerning questions of artistic taste ; it is in this regard that Henrik
Ibsen's famous dictum must be accepted as a statement of the truth —
' The minority is always right.'

But the drama differs from all the other arts in the fact that its
primary purpose is to interest and entertain the multitude ; it is the
only art which is required to appeal at once to the popular majority.
In this particular province of the general domain of art, the verdict of
the many outweighs the verdict of the few. Throughout the entire
history of the theatre, no dramatist who has failed to interest the general
public of his own day has ever attained a subsequent reversal of the
verdict. A poet, like Milton, may be considered great because of the
repeated vote of a perpetual minority ; but a dramatist can be considered
great only if everybody likes him, and the continuance of his fame
depends directly on the continuance of his popularity.

It must, therefore, be regarded as a paradox that our greatest
dramatist should also be our greatest poet — that the one writer of our
English language who has supremely satisfied the few should also be
the one playwright who has completely satisfied the many. The poet
writes for a minority of one — that is to say, primarily for himself, and
secondarily for such individuals as may be sympathetic with his mus
ings ; but the dramatist, by the conditions of his craft, must write for
what Victor Hugo called the mob. To be able to make both of these
appeals at once, to achieve simultaneously these two totally different
endeavours, is the unique accomplishment of William Shakespeare.

No other play has ever been so popular, no other play has ever been
acted so many times or has drawn in the aggregate so much money to
the box-office, as the tragedy of Hamlet. Yet this piece, which has been
so emphatically acclaimed by the uncultivated many, is praised no less
highly by the cultivated few. It was planned by a great playwright ;
it was written by a great poet. * Some quality of the brute incident ' —
to quote a phrase of Robert Louis Stevenson's — interests and entertains
the most illiterate, while the most literate admire the philosophical
subtlety of the thought and marvel at the inimitable eloquence of the
style. The costermonger in the gallery is thrilled when he sees the
hero dash the poisoned cup from the hands of Horatio ; and, simultane
ously, the Matthew Arnold in the stalls is thrilled by the sheer poetic
eloquence of the incidental line —

Absent thee from felicity a while.

It is precisely because of this paradox — because he is capable of
appealing simultaneously and with equal emphasis to the costermonger

CLAYTON HAMILTON 349

and to the apostle of culture — that Shakespeare is our greatest hero.
His fame is founded equally upon the verdict of the many and upon the
verdict of the few. His work is both popular and precious ; it is enjoyed
by the majority and approved by the minority. There can never be
a question of his eminence ; for the vote is utterly unanimous.

There are two tests of greatness in a man ; and these tests are
antithetic to each other. First, a man may be great because he resembles
a vast multitude of other people ; or, second, a man may be great
because he differs vastly from everybody else. It is a sign of greatness
to be representative ; it is also a sign of greatness to be unique. The
representative man — in the great phrase of Walt Whitman — * contains
multitudes ' ; and, when we grow to know him, we know his nation
and his time, and guess at all humanity. The unique man, on the other
hand, contains nothing but himself ; but this peculiar entity is capable
of appearing, for a focused moment of attention, the most interesting
object in the world. In the history of American literature, for instance,
the personality of Edgar Allan Poe is unique and the personality of
Benjamin Franklin is representative. Poe is interesting because he
differs so emphatically from everybody else, and Franklin is interesting
because he so emphatically resembles everybody else in eighteenth-
century America. Poe is peculiar ; Franklin contains multitudes.
Each is great ; but they are great for antithetic reasons.

The paradox of Shakespeare is that he is great in both of these
regards. On the one hand, he is enormously representative. He con
tains all Elizabethan England, and resumes and utters nearly all that
humanity has ever thought and felt. On the other hand, as a literary
artist, he stands unique. No other writer, before or since, has at all
approached his tumultuous and overwhelming eloquence.

It is the project of the popular great dramatist to agree with
the majority — to make articulate to the contemporary multitude the
thoughts and feelings that are latent in the mob. It is the project of the
unpopular great poet to agree with the minority — to lead the questing
mind to pioneer among adventures that are strange and new. These
two projects are totally distinct, and seem irreconcilable. Shakespeare
has reconciled them. It is for this reason that we acclaim him, not
illogically, as the greatest writer of our language, the biggest hero of
our race.

CLAYTON HAMILTON.

NEW YORK.

350 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

SHAI^ESPEAT^E

WE, in America, claim Shakespeare as our own, not merely because
of the rich heritage of our English ancestry, but because Shakespeare,
in a peculiar sense, belongs to the world. He is not the product of any
particular age or race or land. He transcends the limits of his own
tongue. His genius has created a universal language, the language of
humanity. His characters, drawn as particular persons, have become
universal types, the concrete living expression of the abstract virtues
and vices of human nature. His words of wisdom have become folk
proverbs, whose origin, in many minds, is unknown or forgotten, and
yet employed so constantly in the daily commerce of thought as to
become an habitual mode of expressing the elemental experiences com
mon to all mankind.

Shakespeare 's psychology is unerring. The strength and weakness
of man, his possibilities for good or evil, the subtle play of motives
which reveals character and determines conduct, the sophistries of self-
deception, the inner fires which burn out the soul or lighten its aspiring
desire towards arduous attainment, the sin, the folly, and the glory of
mankind, both the depths and the heights of human nature, — all this
Shakespeare has expressed in words of such convincing reality and
simplicity as to leave no one who hears them a stranger to himself.

Shakespeare expresses for us thoughts which we have faintly felt,
yet never can put in words. And when we hear them, even for the first
time, there is a suggestion of familiarity about them. We recognize them
as our own ideas discovered for us by this prophet of the human soul.

To speak a universal tongue, appealing to all men of all races and
of all ages, the true thought must find its expression in perfect form.
There must be the beauty of proportion and of symmetry, the beauty
of rhythm and of emotional colouring, the creative sense which fashions
its word elements, with which it builds into a balanced mass of structural
strength and grace. Shakespeare is the great architect in the guild of
letters, — the master workman. Whether it be a temple or wayside
shrine, it is for all comers a place of refreshment and invigoration, a spot
where we feel impelled to renew our vows and go on our way with new
faith and new courage.

JOHN GRIER HIBBEN.

PRINCETON UNIVERSITY.

ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON 351

ENGLAND, that gavest to the world so much —

Full-breathing freedom, law's security,

The sense of justice (though we be not just) —

What gift of thine is fellow unto this

Imperishable treasure of the mind, —

Enrichment of dim ages yet to be !

Gone is the pomp of kings save in his page,

Where by imagination's accolade

He sets the peasant in the royal rank.

Love, like a lavish fountain, here overflows

In the full speech of tender rhapsody.

He dreamed our dreams for us. His the one voice

Of all humanity. Or knave or saint,

He shows us kindred. Partisan of none,

Before the world's censorious judgement seat

We find him still the advocate of each,

Portraying motive as our best defence.

Historian of the soul in this strange star

Where Vice and Virtue interchange their masks ;

Diviner of life's inner mysteries,

He yet bereaves it not of mystery's charm,

And makes us all the wounds of life endure

For all the balm of beauty.

England now,

When so much gentle has been turned to mad,
When peril threatens all we thought most safe,
When honour crumbles, and on Reason's throne
Black Hate usurps the ermine, oh, do thou
Remember Force is still the Caliban
And Mind the Prospero. Keep the faith he taught ;

352 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

Speak with his voice for Freedom, Justice, Law,—

Ay, and for Pity, lest we sink to brutes.

Shame the fierce foe with Shakespeare's noble word

Say, * England was not born to feed the maw

Of starved Oblivion.' Let thine ardent youth

Kindle to flame at royal Hal's behest,

And thy wise elders glow with Gaunt 's farewell.

His pages are the charter of our race.

Let him but lead thy leaders, thou shalt stand

Thy Poet's England, true and free and strong :

By his ideals shalt thou conqueror be,

For God hath made of him an element,

Nearest Himself in universal power.

ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON.
NEW YORK.

JOHN MATTHEWS MANLY 353

rivo NEGLECTED

PROBABLY no personal tribute could have been given by any one
in the last three hundred years which would have aroused in William
Shakespeare, as he looks down upon us, if not his gratification, at least
his tolerant amusement to such a degree as the ant-like industry ex
pended upon his plays in the last half-century. In consequence of this
industry — particularly as focused upon the stage-setting and the general
conditions of the Elizabethan theatre — we have a more accurate and
more sympathetic understanding of what his plays meant to his audiences
and to himself than men have had at any time since the closing of
the theatres by the great Civil War. Furthermore, the disclosure of the
approximate chronology of the plays has made possible a replacement
of the eighteenth-century conception of a monstrous barbaric genius,
capable of all things, but chaotic in ideas, in art, and in style, by a truer
conception of a genius, of the very first order to be sure, but passing
through a marvellously regular, as well as marvellously rapid, develop
ment of ideas and of style, and in perfect command of all the technical
artistic methods and resources of renaissance culture.

Despite all these gains, however, much work still remains to be
done if we are to eliminate from the plays which bear Shakespeare's
name the alien elements, and to arrive at an accurate conception of his
mind and character, his methods of work, and his cultural equipment.
We shall find, it may safely be asserted, that, in the first place, his cultural
equipment — his acquaintance with the great literature of the past and
his familiarity with the theories of art and of composition — was greater
than even we have been accustomed to suppose ; and, in the second
place, that, although as a practical dramatist he kept his eyes steadily
on his audience and made use of every sensational device and trick
that theatrical experience had developed up to his day, he nevertheless
had a genuine, personal, unremunerable interest in the poetic quality
of his work.

To suggest a complete programme of such study would exceed the

354 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

present limits of space, but two tasks lie so near at hand and are essential
to so many others that they may be emphasized here.

In the first place, despite the labours of two hundred years, the
text of the plays still needs to be established by scientific instead of
haphazard impressionistic methods. Textual criticism has only recently
become scientific, and scarcely one of our great English writers has
profited as yet by its achievements. Chaucer and Shakespeare have
profited scarcely at all, mainly because of the accumulated mass of
traditional rubbish which we have not had the courage to discard. We
still record and discuss the errors and guesses of the second, third, and
fourth folios of Shakespeare's plays as if they were deserving of respect.
The first step toward the establishment of a critical text — an absolute
prerequisite to any further sound work — would seem to be the applica
tion to the first folio of the principles and methods of editing Elizabethan
texts so clearly and convincingly expounded by Mr. R. B. McKerrow.
That much labour is demanded by such methods is true ; but half the
time expended in making casual, and therefore futile, record of variants
between extant copies of the early folios would have accomplished the
task and have provided us with an unassailable basis for all future
textual criticism of Shakespeare.

More important, as well as more difficult, than this task seems that
of providing the means of distinguishing, if possible, the non- Shake
spearian elements which still, after years of diligent guesswork, un
doubtedly remain in the plays, not unrecognized but for the present
incapable of convincing indication.

Almost all attempts to discover by stylistic and metrical tests the
authors of anonymous Elizabethan plays or the unknown collaborators
in plays of multiple authorship have remained unconvincing, except
to the would-be discoverers. The same situation exists in other periods
of English literature. The main reason for this is probably that other
students have a feeling — clearly or dimly formulated — that we have as
yet no corpus of stylistic characters which enables us to form a critical
judgement of such attempts. The evidences of similarity or of difference
which the investigator may produce, lack force and convincing quality
-because we do not know the range of possibility in such matters.

Some of the most industrious studies intended to demonstrate that
this piece of literature was the work of Chaucer, that of Shakespeare,
that of Massinger or Middleton or Marston, have succeeded in con
vincing some of us only of what we already knew : namely, that the
piece was the work of an English writer of the fourteenth, the sixteenth,

JOHN MATTHEWS MANLY 355

or the seventeenth century, as the case may be. Further than this we
shall never be able to proceed until we have built up a corpus of technical
facts in two fields.

If any one knows what are the essential stylistic (as distinguished
from the purely linguistic) discrimina of English speech in any age, or of
any great writer, he is at least incapable of conveying his conclusions
to the rest of us because of the lack of any definite and intelligible
medium of communication. We need, then, in the first place, such
a study of the general characteristics of the English language in each
age as M. Ch. Bailly has attempted to collect for the French language
of the present day in his Manuel de Stylistique and his Precis. In the
second place, we need a similar collection of the stylistic peculiarities
or characters of individual writers.

It is obvious that trustworthy collections of this sort can be made
only by beginning with the language of our own day, in regard to
which we are able to control with practical certainty the sources of our
information.

JOHN MATTHEWS MANLY.

THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO.

356 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

IF SHAK^PET^E SHOULD COME 'BACK?

INGENIOUS wits have often amused themselves by imagining the
possible return of a departed genius that he might mingle for a few
hours with men of the present generation ; and they have humorously
speculated upon his emotions when he found himself once again in
the life he had left centuries earlier. They have wondered what he
would think about this world of ours to-day, the same as his of long ago
and yet not the same. What would he miss that he might have expected
to find ? What would he find that he could never have expected ? As
he had been a human being when he was in the flesh, it is a safe guess
that he would be interested first of all in himself, in the fate of his
reputation, in the opinion in which he is now held by us who know him
only through his writings. And it is sad to think that many a genius
would be grievously disappointed at the shrinkage of his fame. If he
had hoped to see his books still alive, passing from hand to hand, familiar
on the lips as household words, he might be shocked to discover that
they survived solely in the silent obscurity of a complete edition, elabor
ately annotated and preserved on an upper shelf for external use only.
On the other hand, there would be a genius now and then who had died
without any real recognition of his immortal gifts and who, on his
imagined return to earth, would be delighted to discover that he now
bulked bigger than he had ever dared to dream.

It is with this second and scanty group that Shakspere would
belong. So far as we can judge from the sparse records of his life and
from his own writings, he was modest and unassuming, never vaunting
himself, never boasting and probably never puffed up by the belief that
he had any cause to boast. What he had done was all in the day's work,
a satisfaction to him as a craftsman when he saw that he had turned out
a good job, but a keener satisfaction to him as a man of affairs that he
was thereby getting on and laying by against the day when he might
retire to Stratford to live the life of an English gentleman. Probably

BRANDER MATTHEWS

357

no other genius could now revisit the earth who would be more com
pletely or more honestly astonished by the effulgence of his fame. To
suppose that this would not be exquisitely gratifying to him would be
to suggest that he was not human. Yet a chief component of his broad
humanity was his sense of humour ; as a man he did not take himself
too seriously, and as a ghost he would certainly smile at the ultra-serious
ness of his eulogists and interpreters. A natural curiosity might lead
him to look over a volume or two in the huge library of Shaksperian
criticism ; but these things would not detain him long. Being modest
and unassuming still, he would soon weary of protracted praise.

It may be that Shakspere would linger long enough over his critics
and his commentators to note that they have belauded him abundantly
and superabundantly as a poet, as a philosopher, as a psychologist, and
as a playwright. He might even be puzzled by this fourfold classifica
tion of his gifts, failing for the moment to perceive its precision. When
he read praise of his poetry, he would naturally expect to see it supported
by quotation from his two narrative poems or from his one sonnet-
sequence. Quite possibly he might be somewhat annoyed to observe
that these juvenile verses, cordially received on their original publication,
were now casually beplastered with perfunctory epithets, while the
sincerest and most searching commendation was bestowed on the style
and on the spirit of the plays, in their own day unconsidered by literary
critics and not recognized as having any claim to be considered as
literature. Yet this commendation, pleasing even if unforeseen, would
not go to his head, since Shakspere — if we may venture to deduce his
own views from the scattered evidence in his plays — had no very high
opinion of poets or of poetry.

If he might be agreeably surprised by the praise lavished on him
as a poet, he would be frankly bewildered by the commendation bestowed
on him as a philosopher. He knew that he was not a man of solid
learning, and that his reading, even if wide enough for his immediate
purpose, had never been deep. He might admit that he had a certain
insight into the affairs of men and a certain understanding of the intricate
inter-relations of human motives. But he could never have considered
himself as an original thinker, advancing the boundaries of knowledge
or pushing speculation closer to the confines of the unknowable. All
he had sought to do in the way of philosophy was now and again to
phrase afresh as best he could one or another of the eternal common
places, which need to be minted anew for the use of every oncoming
generation. If a natural curiosity should tempt Shakspere to turn

A a

358 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

over a few pages of his critics to discover exactly what there was in his
writings to give him rank among the philosophers, he would probably
be more puzzled than before, until his sense of humour effected a
speedy rescue.

Bewildered as Shakspere might be to see himself dissected as a
philosopher, he would be startled to discover himself described also
as a psychologist. To him the word itself would be unknown and
devoid of meaning, strange in sound and abhorrent in appearance.
Even after it had been translated to him with explanation that he
deserved discussion as a psychologist because he had created a host of
accusable characters and had carried them through the climax of their
careers with subtle self- revelation, he might still wonder at this undue
regard for the persons in his plays, whom he had considered not as much
vital characters as effective acting-parts devised by him to suit the several
capacities of his fellow actors, Burbage and Arnim, Heming and Condall.
It might be that these creatures of his invention were more than parts
fitted to these actors ; but none the less had they taken shape in his
brain first of all as parts intended specifically for performance by specific
tragedians and comedians.

Only when Shakspere read commendation of his skill as a play
wright, pure and simple, as a maker of plays to be performed by actors
in a theatre and before an audience, so put together as to reward the
efforts of the performers and to arouse and sustain the interest of the
spectators — only then would he fail to be surprised at his posthumous
reputation. He could not be unaware that his plays, comic and tragic,
or at least that the best of them, written in the middle of his career as
a dramatist, were more adroitly put together than the pieces of any of
his predecessors and contemporaries. He could not forget the pains
he had taken to knit together the successive situations into a compelling
plot, to provide his story with an articulated backbone of controlling
motive, to stiffen the action with moments of tense suspense, to urge it
forward to its inevitable and irresistible climax, to achieve effects of
contrast, and to relieve the tragic strain with intermittent humour. And
even if it might mean little or nothing to him that he was exalted to
a place beside and above Sophocles, the master of ancient tragedy, and
Moliere, the master of modern comedy, he might well be gratified to
be recognized at last as a most accomplished craftsman, ever dexterous
in solving the problems of dramaturgic technique.

These fanciful suggestions are based on the belief that Shakspere —
like every other of the supreme artists of the world — * builded better

BRANDER MATTHEWS 359

than he knew ' ; and that this is a main reason why his work abides
unendingly interesting to us three centuries after his death. He seems
to have written, partly for self-expression, of course, but chiefly for the
delight of his contemporaries, with no thought for our opinion fifteen
score years later ; and yet he wrought so firmly, so largely and so loftily
that we may rightly read into his works a host of meanings he did not
consciously intend — and for which he can take the credit, none the less,
because only he could have put them there.

BRANDER MATTHEWS.

337 WEST S;TH STREET,
NEW YORK CITY, U.S.A.

A a 2

360 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

/.

WITHIN the city square the fountain's play

Draws from their dusty games the girls and boys ;
They love its coolness, and the pleasant noise

Of falling water, love the misty spray

Thrown in bright showers by the radiant fay,
Bedecked in rainbow films, a shimmering poise,
Who seems just lighted from a world of joys

Beyond the confines of our common day.

So from the dust and heat, and day-long strain
Of toil and traffic at the desk or mart,
Men seek escape, through thy pellucid art,

Into a world of kingly joys and pain,

Where, in the racial passions of the heart,

They find the zest for common tasks again.

FREDERICK MORGAN PADELFORD 361

//. THE FOT^EST OF

IN this charmed wood where youth, beneath the shade
Of ancient boughs, for love's fruition yearned,
Where merry note to bird's sweet throat was turned

And huntsman's horn resounded through the glade,

Where, from the summer sun and wintry wind,

From trees and brooks and stones, men learned content,
And brother's heart, on brother's death intent,

By brother's deed was turned to love of kind ;

In this dear wood, now fallen on evil days,

Sounds but the shriek of shell, and cry infuriate
Of battle-maddened men, whom murderous Fate

Leads plunging, writhing, dying in her maze.
The ravished trees lie prone in mute despair ;
The very birds have ceased to haunt the air.

FREDERICK MORGAN PADELFORD.

UNIVERSITY OF WASHINGTON.

362 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

TLEA FOR CHAT^LES THE lf«I(ESTLER

WHENEVER one compares a character or incident in Shakespeare
with the original sources, one almost invariably observes that the poet,
in fusing his * live soul and that inert stuff ', has consciously or uncon
sciously betrayed some touch of fine feeling, some human tenderness,
which transfers the whole situation to a higher plane. This is clearly
the case when we place the duke's champion of As You Like It alongside
the uncouth Norman of Thomas Lodge's romance. Shakespeare has
been, in America as everywhere else, a tremendously civilizing force.
I cannot remember a single instance of false sentiment in his works ;
and even his minor characters reveal the innate nobility, purity, and
gentleness of the world's supreme dramatist.

Now Charles has never received his due — either from textual
critics or from the audiences which for three centuries have applauded
his defeat. Naturally Orlando misunderstood him, and threw him
with moral as well as physical zest. On the stage Charles is represented
as a loud-mouthed braggart and bully ; the ridiculous ease with which
he is * knocked out ' makes even the skilful laugh.

Shakespeare, in altering many details in Lodge's Rosalynde, really
made Charles not only human, but decidedly attractive. Charles is
a professional athlete ; like most men of his class, he is a good fellow,
and is so presented in the play, if we read it attentively, without pre
conceived opinions. Shakespeare has given us information withheld
from Orlando, Rosalind, and Celia. Charles is liberal and kindly in
disposition, and means to fight fairly for his reputation. He answers in
the most delightful fashion the queries of Oliver concerning the banished
Duke, the forest of Arden, and the Lady Rosalind ; but this is not the
object of his visit. Departing entirely from the original, Shakespeare
makes Charles wait on Oliver for the express purpose of saying that he
has heard that young Orlando is to wrestle against him, disguised ; and
as it does not occur to his honest, affectionate nature that the boy can
be hated by his own brother, he asks if something cannot be done to

WILLIAM LYON PHELPS 363

prevent Orlando's injury and humiliation. Charles speaks in a manner
both modest and masculine ; his motive in seeking the interview is
wholly admirable. It is only after Oliver has told him a series of lies
about Orlando, that Charles's attitude to the latter changes, and accord
ingly he speaks roughly to him just before the combat. The profes
sional quite rightly regards himself not as a competitor with an amateur
gentleman in an athletic contest, but rather as a policeman whose duty
it is to destroy a dangerous criminal. I sincerely hope that Charles
was only slightly injured, and that he subsequently learned the facts
of the case. At all events, I maintain that he is a * good ' character.

WILLIAM LYON PHELPS.

364 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

THE COMMON FOLK OF SHAI^ESPEAT^E

* SHAKESPEARE . . . seems to me ', says Walt Whitman, * of astral
genius, first class, entirely fit for feudalism. His contributions, especially
to the literature of the passions, are immense, for ever dear to humanity
— and his name is always to be reverenced in America. But there is
much in him ever offensive to democracy. He is not only the tally of
feudalism, but I should say Shakespeare is incarnated, uncompromising
feudalism in literature.'

With such an arraignment of Shakespeare's universality and his
sympathy with his fellow men, let us consider the common folk of his
plays with a view to discover the poet's actual attitude toward that
humbler station in life into which he was himself indisputably born.
For our purpose we exclude all personages of rank, all his characters
of gentle birth, together with all those, whatever their varying degrees
of servitude, who wait upon royalty or form, in any wise, a part or
parcel of the households of great folk. This excludes all of Shakespeare's
heroes, unless we are to accept the pseudo-Shakespearian Alice Arden,
or thrust lago and Shylock out of the heroic category. It will also
exclude Shakespeare's fools, from trifling Launce and the delectable
Feste to the sad-eyed companion in folly of King Lear. And even
Falstaff, who was sometime page to Sir Thomas Mowbray, and a gentle
man however unlanded, must stand in his dignity without our bounds.

There remain for us, in our middle domain, some threescore
personages who have speaking parts, of a diversity the equal of their
betters and inferiors, even although their actual roles are, for the most
part, subordinate. Conveniently to treat so many of the undistin
guished, we must group them, a process the more justifiable when we
consider that thus we can best ascertain what are really Shakespeare's
prejudices and whether they are of class or individual.

The drama by Shakespeare's day had already evolved, or rather
created by iteration, several very definite stock personages. One of
these is the pedant or schoolmaster, so well known to Italian comedy ;

FELIX E. SCHELLING 365

and Holof ernes, in Love's Labour 9s Lost, with his loquacity, affectation
of learning and essential ignorance, is Shakespeare's most certain con
tribution to the type. As to * the pedant ' so nominated in The Taming
oj the Shrew, this personage is taken over bodily from Gascoigne's
Supposes, the translation of an Italian play, and performs no ' pedantic '
function ; while Pinch, in The Comedy of Errors, is called in momen
tarily to exorcise the devil out of half-maddened Antipholus of Ephesus.
In the Welshman, Sir Hugh Evans of The Merry Wives of Windsor, we
modulate, so to speak, from the schoolmaster to the parson, for Evans
apparently performed the functions of both. Evans is no fool, however
he may have sung on one memorable occasion, in breaking voice, un-
gowned and sword in trembling hand, while he awaited the coming of
his terrible adversary, the French Doctor Caius, deceived in the meeting,
like himself, by a parcel of incorrigible wags.

Shakespeare's curates, parsons, and religious folk are many. Of
the class of Evans are Sir Nathaniel in Love's Labour 's Lost and Sir
Oliver Martext in As You Like It. Sir Nathaniel is zany to the pon
derous folly of Holof ernes, he who plays the role of * Alisander J to the
latter's Judas in the immortal * ostentation, or show, or pageant, or
antique of the Nine Worthies ' ; while our joy in Sir Oliver lies more
in his delectable cognomen * Martext ' than in the very brief scenes in
which he is brought in to * dispatch ' Touchstone and his Audrey into
matrimony under the greenwood tree. The Shakespearian Friar is
a more important personage, from the plotting, necromantic Home and
Southwell in the second part of Henry VI to Juliet's Friar Lawrence
with his minor counterpart of minor function, Friar Francis in Much
Ado About Nothing, and the Duke, disguised as such, in Measure for
Measure. Whether a matter wholly referable to his sources or not,
Shakespeare conceived the friar of Roman Catholic Verona, Messina,
or Vienna, in a very different spirit from that in which he represents
the small parson, Sir Hugh or Sir Oliver. Friar Francis in Much Ado
About Nothing detects the ' strange misprision in the two princes '
whereby the Lady Hero is slanderously wronged, and it is his prudent
advice, which, followed implicitly by the lady and her friends, rights
that wrong in the end. The likeness of this function of Friar Lawrence
is patent to the most superficial reader ; but unhappily for his prudence
and his ingenuity, the accident to his messenger, the precipitancy of
Romeo, the influence of the very stars is against him, and he fails where
his brother friar succeeded. Nowhere in Shakespeare does the clergy
function with more dignity than in Measure for Measure, whether in the

366 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

role of the chaste and devoted novitiate, Isabella, or in the grave and
searching wisdom of the duke. What Shakespeare's attitude toward
formal religion may have been we have little that is definite to go by.
Who can doubt that it was he, however, and none other, who paid for
the tolling of the great bell of St. Saviour's when his brother's body
was laid there to rest ? And who can question, with all his scenes of
religious pomp and dignity, that Shakespeare recognized, with Wolsey,
that all these forms of earthly vanity are

a burden
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven ?

We may regret that Shakespeare has nowhere exhibited to us, like
Chaucer in his ' poure Persoun of a toun ', his ideal of the cloth. It
has been wittily said that it is a credit to human nature that no critic
has, as yet, called Shakespeare a Puritan. It is somewhat less creditable
that some have gone about to show him the satirist of Puritanism,
especially in Malvolio. It was Jonson, the moralist, who satirized
Puritanism, not Shakespeare, whose business was with qualities that
differentiate men in the essentials of their natures and in the conduct
which these differences entail.

Let us glance next at the physicians of Shakespeare. In Dr. Caius,
of The Merry Wives of Windsor, albeit he is boastful of his intelligence
from the court, the doctor is lost in the gross wit of the Frenchman's
ignorance of English satirized. The apothecary who sells Romeo his
death potion, in his * tattered weeds ', could assuredly not have been
of a profession in which there are no beggars. The father of Helena
in All 's Well that Ends Wellt although he left to his daughter the miracu
lous cure of the King of France by means of his medical secrets, is
reported a man of dignity, learning, and much experience in his practice.
The doctor in Macbeth has won the praises of his own jealous profession
with the professional aptitude of his comments on the somnambulist
symptoms of Lady Macbeth ; while the physician, Cornelius, skilled
as he is in poisons, honourably deceives the wicked queen of Cymbeline
with a sleeping potion instead of the deadly drug which it was her
purpose to administer to the unhappy Imogen.

Unlike his contemporary Middleton and some others, Shakespeare
does not satirize the profession of the law ; and the lawyer, as such,
scarcely figures in the plays. At opposite poles, in the plays which
have to do with FalstarT, we have Master Shallow * in the county of
Gloucester, justice of the peace and " coram ' ', described by Falstaff

FELIX E. SCHELLING 367

as * a man made after supper of a cheese-paring ... for all the world
like a forked radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with a
knife '. And we have likewise the grave and honourable Chief Justice
Gascoigne, whose courage and impartiality in the exercise of his high
functions caused the regenerate Prince to choose him for his guide and
counsellor on the assumption of his new royal dignities. As to the
lesser functionaries of the law, the watchman, the constable, and the
beadle, Shakespeare exhibits the general free spirit of his time, and
laughs, as the rest of the world has ever laughed, at the insolence, in
eptitude, and ignorance of the small man dressed in a little brief authority.
It might be argued with some likelihood of success that this is identi
cally the spirit that marks the Sheriff of Nottingham as the butt of the
lawless pranks of Robin Hood, the attitude towards constituted authority
which combined, in the free ranging devils of the old miracle plays, the
functions of policing the crowd and catering to its merriment. Beyond
his designation, ' a constable ', Dull, in Love's Labour 's Lost, scarcely
represents for his class more than his name ; and as to Elbow, in Measure
for Measure, his ' simplicity ', like his malapropisms, seems a faint and
colourless repetition of these qualities in the immortal Dogberry. Dog
berry is universal, the ubiquitous, inevitable, unescapable man of weight,
ponderous alike physically and mentally ; for I am persuaded with an
old-fashioned American critic, that Dogberry was * of ample size—no
small man speaks with sedate gravity . . . No man of the lean and
dwarfish species can assume the tranquil self-consequence of Dogberry.
How could a thinly covered soul [exhibit] . . . that calm interior glow,
that warm sense, too, of outward security, which so firmly speaks in
Dogberry's content and confidence ? '

Our obvious generalization as to Shakespeare 's estimate of the
learned professions, then, is this : he found in all, earnest, honourable,
and capable men, and honoured them as such ; and he found likewise
among them the stupid, the pedantic, the pretentious, and the absurd.
It was for their follies that he ridiculed them, not because of their class
or their station in life.

Of the small gentry of Elizabethan England, Master Ford and
Master Page, with their two merry wives, offer us the best example in
comedy. The discordant plans and plots for a provision in life for
Mistress Anne Page are in keeping with many a like unconscious parody
on the grand alliances of folk of higher station. The foolish Slender,
who is likewise a small landed proprietor, is nearer an absolute * natural '
than any of Shakespeare's clowns, professional or other, for wit proceeds

368 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

no more out of him, however he beget wit in others, than it ever comes
forth from the mouth of Andrew Aguecheek his cousin-german (so to
speak) of Illyria. In Alexander Iden, who, meeting with Jack Cade in
his Kentish garden, kills him in a single fight, we have a serious personage
much of Slender 's station in life. But Iden has his wits as well as his
valour about him, and his knighting is his deserved reward. Nearer
the soil, if closer to royalty, is the kind-hearted, allegorical-minded
king's gardener who apprises the queen of Richard II of that monarch's
mischance in falling into the hands of his enemy, victorious Bolingbroke.
In the country folk that fill in the background of As You Like It and the
later acts of The Winter's Tale, Shakespeare's English spirit comes into
contact with the conventional types of Italian pastoral drama. Phebe
is the typical shepherdess, beloved but not loving, and Sylvius, the
pursuing shepherd unbeloved. But as if to correct an impression so
artificial, we have, beside them, William and Audrey, English country
folk in name and nature like Costard and Jaquenetta, and in Shake
speare's maturer art, far more redolent of the soil. William, like Slender,
and many a man of better station, is a mere natural ; but his witlessness
is as distinguishable from the folly of the Shakespearian * clown ', as
his boorishness differs from the literal simplicity of the Shepherd who
becomes foster-brother to Perdita in The Winter's Tale. Mopsa and
Dorcas, with their shepherds of the sheep-shearing, in these charming
comedy scenes, are English country folk ; and Autolycus, despite his
fine Greek name, is a delightful English rogue and incorrigible vagabond.
And now that we have all but touched the bottom of the Shake
spearian social scale, we may note that in Shakespeare, poverty does
not necessarily make a man vicious, nor does roguery destroy humour
in a man or deprive him of his brains. The porter in Macbeth is a
foul-mouthed drunken lout ; the nameless * old man ' in the same
tragedy is a credulous recorder of marvels. But Adam, the old serving-
man of Orlando, is faithful almost to death. Dame Quickly of London
is a silly old muddle-head, alike innocent of morals and of common-
sense ; and her sister Dame Quickly of Windsor is a shameless go-
between and meddler ; but the widow, keeper of lodgings for pilgrims
in All 's Well that Ends Well, has a virtuous and honourable disposition.
The drawer, Francis, in Henry IV, ' sums up his eloquence in the
parcel of a reckoning ' ; but there is no keener, droller fellow in the
world than the grave-digger in Hamlet, and it is dubious if for natural
parts, however diverted to the * doing ' and undoing of his fellows,
Autolycus has ever had his equal. Shakespeare's carriers talk of their

FELIX E. SCHELLING 369

jades and their packs ; his vintners and drawers of their guests and
their drinking ; his musicians disparage their own skill and have to be
coaxed to show it ; and his honest botchers, weavers, and bricklayers
hate learning, and in their rage variously kill a poet and hang a clerk.
And curious as all this may appear to him who habitually views the
classes below him as merely his servants or the objects of his organized
charity, all this — save possibly the homicides — is as true of to-day as
of the age of Shakespeare.

And here perhaps as well as anywhere, we may digress into * the
Shakespearian prejudice as to mobs '. The mob figures as such con
spicuously three times in Shakespeare's plays — in the second part of
King Henry VI ', in Julius Caesar, and in Coriolanus. It is represented
in all three cases as fickle, turbulent, cruel, foul, and possessed of a rude
sense of humour ; and this last is Shakespeare's — perhaps, more
accurately, the Elizabethan — contribution to the picture. It has been
well observed that Tudor England presented no precise parallel to the
persistent struggle of the Roman plebs against the bulwarks of patrician
oligarchy. And it is doubtful if Shakespeare would have sought for
such parallels had they existed. In unessentials — and the picture of the
mob is such to the dramatic action of these two Roman plays — Shake
speare is always faithful to his sources, and Plutarch's crowd is cruel,
seditious, and ' contemptibly responsive ' to the most obvious blandish
ments of the demagogue. In the admirable scenes of Jack Cade's
rebellion, although the material was nearer home, Shakespeare once
more followed his sources, here in Holinshed and Halle. Neither of
these worthies comprehended in the slightest degree the actual political
issues underlying the Kentishmen's revolt, which historically was as
respectable as it was fruitless. But Shakespeare was not seeking histori
cal accuracy, but dramatic effectiveness and fidelity to the observed
characteristics of ignorant men escaped from the curb of the law.
Shakespeare, as to the mob, was no sociologist, and his yearning for
the submerged truth was not that of many a worthy gentleman of our
own time who otherwise misrepresents the unshriven objects of his
solicitude. In short, a mob was to the unlettered dramatist merely
a mob. Man running in packs unbridled by authority was a pheno
menon better known to unpoliced Elizabethan England than to us, and
Shakespeare found most of his own impressions in this matter to tally
remarkably with those of Plutarch and Holinshed.

With Shakespeare's mob we leave the country and meet with
the small tradesmen of towns ; for even the Kentish ' rabblement ' of

370 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

Jack Cade is represented, like that of ancient Rome, as made up of small
tradespeople — cobblers, butchers, smiths, and the like — not folk of the
fields. Individually as collectively, Shakespeare has a greater apprecia
tion for the humours of the tailor, the joiner, and the bellows-mender
than for his psychology. The drunken tinker of The Taming of the
Shrew, the author found in his source and, unlike that source, wearied,
he dropped his adventures when the play within the play was at an end.
The hempen homespuns, with the illustrious weaver, Bottom, at their
head, repeat, in their absurd drama of Pyramus and Thisbe, a situation
already sketched in Love's Labour '$ Lost, one in which the banter and
cruel interruption of ungentle gentles evidently reproduces a situa
tion by no means unknown to better actors than Bottom, Flute, and
Starveling. A kindly spirit speaks in the words of Theseus :

For never anything can be amiss
When simpleness and duty tender it;

for truly is he tolerant who can find words of praise for the good inten
tions of the amateur actor, a being little loved of gods or men. To the
professional player, whom he knew better than any other man of art,
Shakespeare is courteous and appreciative in the person of Hamlet,
and we know from an often quoted sonnet, how deeply he could feel
the degradation which popular contemporary opinion attached to the
player's art.

The merchant, in Shakespeare's day, was a far more dignified
person than the mere man of trade. A merchant, it is true, waits with
a jeweller, but also with a painter and a poet, in the anteroom of the
sumptuous spendthrift Timon. But ordinarily, the merchant is a more
dignified person, extending courtesy to strangers, as in The Comedy oj
Errors, taking risks for his merchandise and for himself, as in the case
of old Aegeon, in the same play, who has ventured on markets forbidden
and is imprisoned for his daring. The most notable Shakespearian
merchant is, of course, Antonio, the merchant prince of Venice, an
adventurer in the Elizabethan sense into strange markets and a gambler
for high commercial stakes. His gravity — or presaging melancholy —
befits his dignity, and his generosity to Bassanio, a fellow adventurer
(but in more than the Elizabethan sense), is only equalled by his autho
rity among his fellow merchants and his scorn of the unrighteous Jew.
Shy lock, too, is of the merchant class, but a pariah alike for his race
and his practice of usury. But Shy lock will take us into precincts irre
levant ; for the Jew, whatever your thought of him or mine, is not of
the common folk even of Shakespeare.

FELIX E. SCHELLING 371

Next to the merchants come Shakespeare's seamen, the noble-
minded Antonio of Twelfth Night, Sebastian's friend, the outspoken
sea-captain, boatswain, and mariners of The Tempest, the attendant
sailors and fisher-folk of Pericles. Shakespeare was a landsman ; save
for an occasional line, his descriptions of the sea, in the richest of all
literatures in this respect, are none of them important. The mariner
as such he treats with the respect of a person only partially known.
With the soldier, in a martial age, Shakespeare was better acquainted,
and he knew him from the kings and great commanders of the historical
plays to such pasteboard and plaster military men as Parolles, Nym,
and Pistol. Of FalstafFs levy and his rabble attendants, from Bardolph
of the carbuncled nose to the minute page, it may be said that they cut
a sorrier figure in France than at the Boar's Head in Eastcheap. But
Shakespeare's army levied better men than these ; the heroic gunners
on the walls of Orleans, the brave and capable captains of four kingdoms,
Gower, Fluellen, Macmorris, and Jamy in Henry V, and the manly
English soldiers Bates, Court, and Williams. If the refined, modern
critic, versed in the psychological researches of an incessantly prying
world, would learn whether the old dramatist, Shakespeare, had any
notions as to the mental processes and moral stability of the common
man, let him read and ponder the simple incident of King Henry V,
incognito, and the soldier Williams, and their arguments pro and con
as to the responsibility of princes. Williams is the type of the honest,
fearless, clear-headed ' man in the street ' who honours his king, not
slavishly because he is a king, but for the qualities that make him kingly ;
who respects manhood (his own included) above rank, and is the more
valiant that he knows the cost of valour. There are several well-known
tales of military devotion — they are not English — of the soldier, wounded
unto death in a quarrel, the righteousness or wrong of which he cares
not even to inquire, who dies in infatuated content that he has obeyed,
in unquestioning faith, the august commands of his master. Williams
is not of this type. His free soul will challenge his gage in the eye of his
prince and when his heart tells him he is right, let the devil forbid.
Shakespeare, too, knew the common man, who is bleeding to-day for
England ; and his trust, like ours, was in him. Nor did our wise old
dramatist, for all his scenes of the pomp and circumstance of war, forget
its terror, its sorrow, and its pathos. In the third part of Henry VI, that
unhappy king is seated alone on the field of battle, as the struggle surges
away from him. And there enters * a son that hath killed his father,
dragging in the dead body ', and later * a father bearing his dead son '.

372 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

Poignant are the words of these common men in their common woe,
the battle woe of all ages and all times, in the grip of which the least
are as the great and the greatest as the poorest.

In the taverns, the brothels and the jails, Shakespeare found the
foul-mouthed, the ignorant, and the dishonest, and he represented them
in all these particulars in a faithful, if at times forbidding, reality of
life. Moreover, his prejudice against evil is pronounced in the very
repulsiveness of such scenes. He knows that there are impostors among
beggars, that trial by combat is only a somewhat cruder method of
getting at the truth than trial by jury, that there are corrupt and in
competent magistrates and fools abounding in all walks of life. More
over, he depicts in his plays a feudal state of society, for such was English
society in his day. But there is nothing in these honest dramatic pictures
of English life, from the king on his throne to Abhorson with his heads
man's axe, to declare Shakespeare prejudiced against any class of his
fellow countrymen. Wherefore, our obvious generalization as to
Shakespeare's attitude toward common folk, whether they be learned
or unlearned, is this : he found among them the stupid, the ignorant,
the pretentious, and the absurd ; but he found likewise in each class
the earnest, the honourable, and capable, and honoured each after his
kind as such. For their follies he ridiculed them ; for their virtues,
which he recognized, he loved them, deflecting neither to ridicule nor
respect because of station in life.

FELIX E. SCHELLING.
PHILADELPHIA,
PENNSYLVANIA.

OWEN WISTER 373

LOVER OF SHAK£SPEAf(E <AND
OF ENGLAND

FOUR years will presently be gone since the hand that could have
shaped a fit message, worthy of this occasion, wrote its last word.
Horace Howard Furness died suddenly and quietly one August evening
in 1912, his labours upon Cymbeline being then so nearly completed
that the volume as he left it was published by his son, Horace the younger.
The Editor of the New Variorum was my kinsman and my very dear
friend. His opinions and surmises about Cymbeline he told me week
by week, while the work was going on. His interest was so keen and
vivacious that, when the telegram came to tell us that of him also it was
now to be said, * home art gone and ta'en thy wages/ it seemed incre
dible, and for a long while so remained. It is the memory of those final
talks, the knowledge that it would please him, that now spur me to meet
a task far beyond my unscholarly powers, even had months, instead of
days, been allotted for the performing of it. Yet even without such
a spur, what lover of Shakespeare and of England could think for a
moment of turning aside from the task in this year of the poet's fame,
and this hour of his Island's life ? — * that water-walled bulwark, still
secure and confident from foreign purposes '.

I shall not be so presumptuous as to attempt any tribute to him
who has surpassed the magic of his own created sprite in putting a girdle
about the earth. When time and the whole of civilized mankind have
set him where he is, what is left to say ? What wreath to-day can add
a flower to his name, or serve to do more than unite us in coming grate
fully into the presence of the mighty memory ?

' Others abide our question. Thou art free.' Some men (and some
of them wise) are not of Matthew Arnold's mind. They would have
a Shakespeare visible throughout his days, caught in the trap of research,
his person disclosed from an age even earlier than his poaching escapades
and precocious love-making, until even after he had left his second-best
bedstead to his wife. They would like to know how much and how
little she was a helpmeet to him; what breakfast she gave him, and

B b

374 A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

if she cooked it to his taste ; and if it was a domestic quarrel that sent
him away from her side to London. They would follow him, and pry,
and touch, and know all the littlenesses we know about in ourselves,
that I thank Heaven we do not know about in him. I am even glad
that over his work-desk there hangs an impenetrable veil. Around him
is thus drawn a circle that I trust none will ever find the secret of entering.
The public records of London, that nobody ever searched so perse-
veringly for clues until Professor Wallace had this ingenious thought,
have furnished him with some information ; and that it was an American
who may have fixed the true site of the Globe Theatre is a feat for
Americans to be proud of. But that the poet boarded with a maker
of fashionable headdresses, named Mountjoy, and intervened amiably
there in a family matter, does not interest me. May the public records,
and every quarry that he digs in, yield Professor Wallace a store of
anecdotes about Webster of whom we know so little, and poor Massin-
ger, and Ford's successful marriage and melancholy hat — about any
other of that great company you please, and not a jot more about
Shakespeare !

We know about him all we need ; there he stands, a mystery, yet
definite ; more indestructible than any other human creator ; something
almost like a natural law. The sentences that he wrote seem rather to
make our mother-tongue than to be made of it. A notion of how
definite he is, yet how immeasurable, cannot be obtained without
knowing the Greeks, and his fellow Elizabethans, and Goethe, Dante,
and Moliere. It is by standing him against a background of all these
others that we see him most distinctly. Those things wherein some
of them surpass him serve to show his greater vastness : for neither
the Greek symmetry nor the intellectual depths of Faust are large enough
to hold Lear, Ariel, Caliban, and FalstafF — all contained in the one man,
with room for so much more. Dante, too, grasps certain portions of
life harder, but the rest he scarcely touches. Moliere remains. If his
Misanthrope and Tartufie go beyond anything of the sort in the comedies,
he wrote no Hamlet.

II

The Shakespeare readings of Fanny Kemble, my grandmother,
which began in Philadelphia in 1849, probably led to the forming of our
Shakspere Society — the oldest Shakespeare Society in the world — two
years later. She had quickened interest in the plays, and some gentlemen

OWEN WISTER

375

accordingly organized themselves into a body dedicated to a thorough
and critical study of the poet. They met every two weeks during certain
months. Some of them were lawyers and judges, and it was a company
of trained intelligences. In a few years, after a season spent upon The
Tempesty they printed privately the notes resulting from its study.
Here was a plain sign that they were not satisfied with the comments
and explanations of previous Shakespearians — with all of which their
excellent library provided them. In 1866-7 their study of Romeo and
Juliet added to their dissatisfaction. Horace Howard Furness had been
a member of the Society since 1860, when he was twenty-seven years
old, and when he had learned that his deafness was to prevent the possi
bility of his ever practising his profession, the Law. Early in 1871
appeared his Romeo and Juliet, ' affectionately inscribed ' to the Shakspere
Society of Philadelphia. The shape and size of the volume, its print,
everything connected with its appearance and convenience, had been
the subject of thought and discussion among the members. They, at
a meeting held February 7, 1871, formally resolved that ' In the opinion
of the Society no single volume yet published in America is at all equal
to this in value as a contribution to Shakespeare literature*. I am writing
this on the gth day of March, 1916. Every other Wednesday the
Shakspere Society still meets. It met last night, and, after dining (for
it always dines first), gave its attention to the fourth Act of Antony and
Cleopatra, Scene xiv, line 114, to the end of the Act. Our Dean is now
Horace Furness the younger, and he is at work upon King John, the
next volume of the New Variorum.

Ill

It seems as if here I should stop ; but I cannot quite stop here.
To my heart England and her poet are alike familiar, and very dear ;
and certain lines of the poet's verse have been ringing within me since
the first day of August 1914. On that Saturday I left St. Pancras, and,
a few hours later, sailed down the Thames, bound homeward. Night
had come as the ship turned west out of the river's mouth into the broad
seas. As we moved past Deal and Dover and beyond, we were swept
continually by lights that watched from water and land. It was then
that suddenly the verses rang, which never since have been quite silent.
I could not catch every tone at first. They sounded from that place
in memory which all of us know, where things live of themselves in

fib 2

376

A BOOK OF HOMAGE TO SHAKESPEARE

depths beyond our comple